Table of Contents
Books by Samantha Cayto
Title Page
Legal Page
Book Description
Dedication
Trademark Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Read more from Samantha Cayto
More exciting books!
About the Author
Pride Publishing books by Samantha Cayto
Single Books
One Night in a Dungeon
Man Candy
Alien Slave Masters
The Captain’s Pet
The Rebellious Pet
The Untamed Pet
The Captive Pet
The Inconvenient Pet
The Undercover Pet
Alien Blood Wars
Blood Dance
Dangerous Dance
Slave Dance
Star Dance
Mating Dance
Anthologies
His Rules: Safeword
Right Here, Right Now: Never the Groom
Alien Blood Wars
HEALING DANCE
SAMANTHA CAYTO
Healing Dance
ISBN # 978-1-78651-828-6
©Copyright Samantha Cayto 2019
Cover Art by Cherith Vaughan ©Copyright August 2019
Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz
Pride Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2019 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.
Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.
Book six in the Alien Blood Wars series
What lurks in the dark is not always a monster. Sometimes it’s your deepest desire.
Having survived brutal centuries as Dracul’s slave, Dafydd is pulling his life together. He has accepted his role as father to baby Idris and is determined to raise this son without the evil influence of his alien blood. Trauma still affects every aspect of his daily life, however, and he struggles to cope with it in dangerous ways. He also cannot quite shake the appeal of the human doctor who saved his life.
Ric began his journey with the aliens out of medical curiosity. After his adventure in Wales, he can no longer dismiss how it has become personal. He knows Dafydd is not ready for any kind of relationship, but the lure of courting him is something Ric cannot resist.
When a new problem crops up in the Boston crime world, the aliens are forced to explore the possibility that it is more than human-based. Their journey of discovery ropes in both Dafydd and Ric, throwing them together and forcing them to face their attraction and their demons.
Malcolm is along for the ride with Brenin, who, like Dafydd, is dealing with his own PTSD. The four of them must lean on each other to find a way past the lasting damage visited on them by the monster.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all of the wonderful people at Pride Publishing, not the least of which is my awesome editor, Jamie, as well as all of my readers for their unfailing support and patience with me while I was battling cancer.
Trademark Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
New England Patriots: New England Patriots LLC
Tommy Hilfiger: Tommy Hilfiger Licensing LLC
Levi’s: Levi Strauss & Company Corporation
Raymond L. Flynn Black Falcon Terminal: Massport
Lyft: Lyft Inc.
Star Trek: Gene Roddenberry
Google: Google Inc.
GQ: Advance Publications
Tommy Bahama: Viewpoint International Inc.
Sperry: SR Holdings LLC
Ray-Bans: Luxottica Group
Youngblood: Calum Hood, Ali Tamposi, Andrew Watt, Ashton Irwin and Luke Hemmings
Speedo: Speedo International Limited
Stickley: L. & J. G. Stickley Inc.
Counting Stars: Ryan Tedder
Cheshire Cat: Disney Enterprises Inc.
Prologue
Wales, 1647
Dafydd knew what he was doing was wicked. Hiding behind bushes as he watched the Parliamentary soldiers bathe in the pond was a sin in God’s eyes. A man who lieth with another man was an abomination worthy of death. Didn’t he hear that often enough in church? And two men in the village had been castrated and hung not three years ago for buggery. He might not have dared to act on his depraved desires, but he was still risking his immortal soul and his life by indulging in this temptation to watch naked men.
And yet he couldn’t stop. Each time that he’d sworn he wouldn’t do it again, he’d ended up right back at this spot. Small as he was, the thick bushes hid him from view as he spied on the men. They came to wash off the sweat of the day each evening. With the sun lowering in the sky behind him, he could see everything without being easily seen in return. All those wet muscles gleamed with the water that sluiced off them. When the men shook themselves like dogs, their cocks and balls swung, catching his gaze and holding it captive.
The variety of how men were built amazed him. Some dicks were long and thin, while others were thick and short. One man in particular had the best of both kinds—long and thick in equal measure. They were all delicious to see and so very different from the skinny little thing hanging between his own legs. Saliva pooled in his mouth and shivers danced along his skin at the notion of what those men could do with what God had given them. He held only the faintest of ideas, based on the whispering of other boys and his limited imagination.
The men themselves put on an instructive show on occasion. Apparently a bit of grabbing and pulling one another was okay, like he did for himself. Going into his twelfth summer, his cock had come alive. He’d known what do from watching his older brothers in bed, tugging at their dicks, milking them like cows’ udders. Not that the church sanctioned such, either. But a little sin was acceptable, and if that were true, why not this, as well?
He rea
ched under his tunic to take hold of his shaft. It had sprung up the moment the men had arrived. The anticipation of the show was enough to make him hard. Seeing the men now dipping into the water brought him close to climax unaided. When he yanked a few times on his foreskin, he came with a muted gasp that left him breathless. Then he wiped the signs of his sin on the grass beneath his knees, never taking his gaze off the men. If he waited a few minutes, his cock would rise again.
The sound of hoofbeats behind him caught his attention. Heart in his throat, he turned to see who was approaching. A tall man with black hair and pale skin cantered toward him on a magnificent beast of a horse. A spike of true terror hit Dafydd, freezing him for a few seconds. He knew that man. Everybody did. Not Welsh, nor English, nor even Scottish, he was a new lord just to the north. People whispered that he had been a Royalist before allying with Parliament, not that switching sides was rare. Many had in the course of the civil war. Dafydd and other common folk hardly knew or cared who ruled. It was never good for them, regardless.
This foreign lord, though, was different. No one trusted outsiders, and this one was whispered to come from a far off, barbaric place. Rumors abounded at his cruelty. No one who crossed him lived for long, and death was never quick. Anyone dragged into his castle wouldn’t be seen again, taken to a hideous fate that rivaled anything other powerful men inflicted upon their enemies. The fact that he rode about alone was testament to how frightening he was. No one else dared to do such a thing. The man was fearless like the Devil, which was reason enough to steer clear of him.
Dafydd was nothing to this man, and yet being caught spying on the soldiers would spell his doom. Forcing breath into his lungs, he launched himself from his hiding place and raced away. He was quick for his size. Everyone remarked on it. He pumped his legs as fast as he could, growing fright and the sound of the horse’s hooves speeding him along. His feet were tough from his lack of boots, so he didn’t even try to pick his route carefully. All he could think of was reaching the outer edge of the village and the meager safety it would provide. Likely no one would come to his aid. At least there would be places to hide.
The foreign lord got closer, for there was no way to outrun a horse. A laugh rang out, skittering up Dafydd’s spine. He ran faster, lungs and muscles burning with each step. Without even knowing it for sure, he ran as if his life depended on it. Then the horse was upon him and fingers latched on to the back of his tunic. For a few seconds, he flew, arms and legs flailing in the air. The lord had monstrous power, lifting Dafydd as if he were a strip of cloth. Dafydd shrieked, not caring how much he sounded like a girl—and a terrified one at that. With a dizzying rush, he found himself slung face-down across the lord’s thighs.
A hard slap hit his rump as laughter floated above him. “What a pretty catch. And here I thought I was only out for a breath of fresh air.”
The horse kicked up to a gallop. Dafydd would have slid off if not for the firm hand holding him in place. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth at the miserable ride. It was nearly impossible to breathe with his stomach slamming against what felt like stone. How many times had he fantasized about being carried away by a strong, handsome man?
It was never like this.
The sickening and perilous ride came to an abrupt end when they entered the forest. The lord reined his horse in, but before Dafydd could catch his breath, he was spun around again. This time, when his vision cleared, he was sitting astride and staring right into the lord’s violet eyes. So beautiful. So cruel.
The lord pinched Dafydd’s chin, moving his head this way and that. “Hmm, very fetching, the prettiest thing I’ve seen in a long while. And it just so happens I’ve been looking for a new fuck toy.” The man’s Welsh was flawless, yet with an accent Dafydd had never heard before.
Foreign devil.
The lord leaned in, his strangely-colored eyes raking Dafydd like a scourge. “You enjoy looking at naked men, do you? What a wicked, wicked boy you are.”
When Dafydd tried to shake his head in denial, the hold on his chin increased, hard enough to make him whimper.
“That’s it, slut. I like hearing how much you hurt.” He grinned, showing a full set of teeth, white and gleaming. Sharp.
Dafydd whimpered again. “Please, M’lord.”
“Please, what, cunt? Do you want me to show you what a man can do to a pretty boy who shouldn’t wander too close to temptation?”
Dafydd tried to free himself from that punishing grip. He had to get away. If he could only slip down, the forest would give him cover. This wasn’t what he wanted. Something terrible was going to happen if he didn’t escape.
His efforts were for naught. There was no breaking the man’s hold. Instead, he was lifted and turned as if he were nothing more than his sister’s rag doll. Now he faced away from the man and with his tunic riding high on his thighs, his exposed crotch mashed against the rough saddle. The lord clasped his hand around the back of Dafydd’s head and forced him to bend over the horse’s neck. His tunic was rucked up more to expose his bare ass. He closed his eyes while he clenched the horse’s mane. The familiar smell of the animal was his only solace.
He didn’t know what was coming, not truly, and yet he wasn’t really surprised when something thick pushed against his ass. He could tell just by the feel that this was unlike anything he’d seen before. It was too big and oddly cool, a battering ram pushing past the globes of his buttocks. He clenched his hole instinctively, even though he knew it was useless.
There was no fighting this man, this lord, this devil. When the club breached his hole, it went all the way in with a hard, brutal thrust. Dafydd screamed in agony before begging with words that made no sense. There was no mercy to be had…or beauty or pleasure—only pain that didn’t lessen as the man plundered Dafydd’s body. This was what came of his wicked desires, God’s wrath visited upon him. He knew then that his life was over, no matter if he kept breathing.
He was forever broken.
And yet the violation of his ass was nothing. A few seconds later, sharp teeth sank into the side of his neck. The pain of it was quickly overtaken by the revolting sensation of his blood being drawn out of his body. He stretched his mouth wider in a silent cry of terror. His mind shut down, sinking into oblivion, unable to face the horror that a monster had truly claimed him.
.
Chapter One
Boston, Modern Day
Dafydd turned his head just in time to avoid getting soapy water in his eyes. “Idris, what did I say about splashing?”
His son gave him a toothy grin and lifted his hand to do the forbidden act again. Dafydd reached over the side of the tub and took hold of the baby’s wrist. He was careful to keep his touch light—not enough to hurt, merely to contain.
“I said ‘no’. Stop being such a chopsy boy or bath time is over.”
Idris looked at him, his violet eyes assessing, as always. Even at his young age, he was calculating how much he could get away with. His growth spurt had been troubling, although not unexpected. He should have still been a wiggly bundle of soft skin and small bones…if he were human. He wasn’t. Instead, he’d grown to toddler-size—and with his father’s monstrous intelligence in the bargain.
And his evil inclinations.
No, he couldn’t think like that. It was too early to tell what manner of boy, then man, he might grow into. He didn’t have to become like his brothers, a shadow of their alien father’s nature. There was a chance—a good one, if he were to believe his current hosts—that Idris would mature into whatever manner of man Dafydd raised him to be. He’d never been given the chance to influence the twins. This time would be different. Maybe if he showered this son with love, he could dispel whatever bad thing lurked in his blood. He might have done the same with Bran and Cadoc, regardless of the manner of their conception, if he’d been permitted.
The mere thought of his other sons and what he’d been forced to do with one of them caused his vision to blur. For a
few seconds, he didn’t see Idris sitting in a bubble bath. He saw Cadoc’s wide-eyed look of surprise before his face and body crumbled into dust. His heart squeezed in an echo of the grief that had overtaken him at the time. He wouldn’t have thought he’d have any capacity to love his sons, yet he had.
He mentally shook himself. There was no value in dwelling on it. His life went on and so did this newest child’s. There was a chance for him to make things right, to raise a hybrid to be a good citizen of this world, not a monster. He’d taken the first step by putting aside the forced pregnancy and the way he’d loathed it. Idris wasn’t to blame. He knew, and mostly felt, that.
Idris blew a raspberry before saying, “Otay, Dada. Duck!”
Dafydd gave his son an approving smile before releasing his hand and reaching for the New England Patriots rubber duck. Idris squealed in delight as he took it and plopped it into the water. The boy was an odd mixture of abilities. His understanding of language was excellent, as was his vocabulary. But he had what Harry referred to as speech impediments, reflective of the way his body was growing rapidly. He was also a bit clumsy. This was all normal, his hosts assured him. He had to trust them on that. Other than being used as a punching bag at Dracul’s encouragement, Dafydd had had no real hand in raising his first two sons.
“How is bath time going?” Lucien, Harry’s husband, asked the question from the doorway of the large bathroom.
Dafydd tamped down his irritation. He didn’t like being monitored, even unobtrusively as Lucien typically did. He understood their concern. Having first rejected Idris then killed Cadoc, Dafydd’s intentions toward the baby were a little suspect. When he was being fair-minded, he could see their point of view.
“Fine,” he replied without taking his eyes off his son. “No one’s drowned yet.”
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