“We really need to work on those definitions of Master and slave, Mackie. You’re getting awfully bossy.”
That set off a playful exchange between the married couple about their BDSM contract and their marriage vows. Because they were so obviously in love and only teasing each other, Brenin let the words wash over him without concern. He would have gone back to people-watching if Malcolm hadn’t claimed his attention once more.
“It will be good for you to see Dafydd, won’t it? He’s someone you can perhaps talk to about…whatever.”
He saw the concern in the man’s eyes and he would have said anything to ease it. “Of course. No worries.”
Malcolm shot him a quick smile. “None at all.”
And they both knew that was a lie.
* * * *
Malcolm reluctantly let go of Brenin within minutes of entering the club, following Val toward Alex’s office while Mackie highjacked Brenin in another direction. He kept his gaze on the pair for as long as he could and told himself he was being a ninny. Brenin was not only safe in this place, it was a chance for him to find emotional support from young men who understood him.
“What’s doing with the kid?” Val dropped that bomb of a question with the same casual ease as asking about the weather.
Malcolm jerked his head in the man’s direction and frowned. “What do you mean by that?” His tone was sharper than was warranted, and even knowing that, he continued to glare at his old shipmate and friend.
Val held up a hand in a peaceful gesture. “Don’t get your kilt in a twist, MacLerie. I simply meant that he seems…I don’t know, fragile, maybe.” He shrugged. “More so than the last time I saw him. Not that I know squat about humans, but Mackie has made me more attuned to boys’ emotions, I guess.”
Malcolm sighed. “Sorry. It’s a fair question and one I wish I could answer for you. The sad truth is he’s having trouble adjusting to the turn his life has taken. I blame myself. I was too sure of my own power to get him past his ordeal and didn’t listen to Doc MacPhee when she warned me early on that he was going to have his ups and downs. Add to that the strain of rehabilitating Dracul’s slaves and, well…” He shrugged again.
They’d reached Alex’s office, finding Emil and Harry already there, so he snapped his mouth shut. With their extraordinary hearing, all three of them surely had heard what he’d said in the corridor, so their reunion was more perfunctory than usual. A few mutual nods, the one he gave Alex deeper and more respectful as was due his captain, and that was that. Emil offered him a glass of ice-cold lemonade and a plate laden with sugar cookies. Unlike humans, his kind didn’t take the passage of time as seriously. For him, it was as if he’d seen these men mere days ago and not weeks.
“Thanks for this, Emil,” he said as he slid into a vacant chair. “My stores aboard ship aren’t nearly as fine, and neither Brenin nor I are particularly talented in the kitchen.” He took a long swallow of his drink, because he was thirsty and it allowed him to avoid any discussions for a few more seconds.
Harry didn’t allow it, however. “Is Brenin having trouble?” He peered intently at Malcolm, kindness showing through his eyes.
There was no helping it. He’d have to voice his concerns and hope that his friends, as well as their human companions, could help. Brenin’s well-being was the most important thing, far more than any inadequacies his bruised ego might feel.
“Aye,” he admitted. “He’s become moody and skittish, I suppose is the right word for lack of a better one. I find I’m walking on eggshells around him.”
He didn’t add in the concern about touching the boy, or how when he did without Brenin expecting it, he’d catch a flicker of something in his eyes. It was more than fear, too. Revulsion, perhaps, and the idea that Brenin might be repulsed by him cut deeply. He couldn’t quite bring himself to talk about it in front of everyone. Maybe he’d talk to Harry later in private and get his take on what to do.
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “I’m not surprised. Humans process trauma over long periods of time and in unpredictable ways. What does MacPhee say about it?”
Malcolm bit off half a cookie, because damn, they smelled heavenly and tasted even better. He missed Cook’s daily treats and looked forward to the culinary pampering that Emil could offer in her stead.
“Much the same,” he answered around his mouthful. “She’s tried to talk to him, but he’s not very forthcoming.”
From where he sat sprawled behind his desk, Alex weighed in. “I don’t suppose a young man who was kept as a sex slave is all that comfortable relaying his experience to a woman.”
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed. “She said as much. Her advice was that he needed a specialist, too. She’s a wonder with fixing bodies, but head problems are not her specialty. Unfortunately, we can’t have Brenin relating his experiences to anyone else without all of our secrets being spilled.”
“We have the same problem when it comes to Dafydd,” Harry said. “That boy needs counseling that I’m not equipped to provide.”
Malcolm washed his treat down with more lemonade. “What about that other doctor, Paz? Is he any help?” If he was, perhaps he could have a go at Brenin.
Alex grimaced. “Afraid not. He’s gone from emergency medicine to exploring cadavers, a useful career change for us possibly, but no help for this.”
Malcolm’s brief, small hope died.
“He likes Dafydd, though,” Emil offered. “The love and devotion of a good man might be enough to get Dafydd past his life with Dracul and the killing of his son.”
“Och, aye?” Malcolm shifted his gaze to the chef. “I can’t say I’m surprised by that. He did spend every moment with him while they were still at my castle. That could be of help, then.”
For Dafydd, but it did nothing for Brenin. And brooding over it wasn’t going to solve anything, either. He decided to change the subject.
“What’s this about trouble Val alluded to on the ride over?”
“I said it was human shit…probably,” the man amended before stuffing an entire cookie in his mouth.
“As you say, probably. You really are terrible at nuance, man.” He looked to Alex for some clarity.
Their leader scratched the underside of his chin. “Val’s right. It’s likely nothing to do with us.” He gave Malcolm a brief summary of the 3-D printed gun situation.
Malcolm drained his glass, and before he could think to ask, Emil brought the pitcher of lemonade over and refilled it. Malcolm nodded in appreciation.
“Humans do seem intent on destroying themselves,” Malcolm mused. “They think of something then blunder ahead with it and damn the consequences.” He mulled the information over for a few seconds. “Gunrunning was ever a sideline of Dracul’s. He loved putting weapons in the hands of fractious people.”
“Except that he’s dead,” Val reminded him.
Is he?
It was the question that had been rattling around Malcolm’s head ever since that night in the bastard’s castle when Malcolm had seen the fucker drop into the cistern. He’d raced down to the pool of water in search of evidence that the fall had killed him, knowing there would be nothing left to find. Death turned his kind to dust. Malcolm didn’t need anyone to remind him of it. He saw the signs of it every day when he looked at his own face and chest where his adventure in Wales had left permanent grooves in his skin. He didn’t mind the beat-up appearance, and Brenin had assured him that it gave him a more rugged look. He wasn’t so sure of that. Perhaps those scars reminded the boy of his own ordeal.
Shaking off his inner turmoil, he refocused on the less personal issue. “Petru would have kenned the ins and outs of the arms sale business—and Bran, as well, I shouldn’t wonder. Either of them could have easily picked it up after they fled Wales.”
“It’s possible, of course,” Alex allowed. “But we also run the risk of jumping at shadows. We’ve fallen into this trap before in centuries past, where we inserted ourselves in what ended up bein
g purely human matters. We meddled and changed outcomes simply because we mistakenly thought Dracul was already doing so.” The man shook his head.
Aye. Alex had always worried about being too much like Dracul, to the point of chastising himself where it wasn’t warranted.
“Dinnae fash yourself over it, sir. I for one am happy to be visiting the United States of America instead of another Commonwealth country.” He winked and went back to concentrating on his delicious snack.
“Hmm,” was Alex’s only response. Then, “Duncan is coming in later this evening. We can reconvene and discuss whatever new details he has. With any luck, the FBI that has flown into town to investigate will have found the human behind this nonsense and we can simply enjoy your visit. Do you want to go to Brenin? They’re all up in my suite.”
Malcolm considered the offer. He missed his boy easily and deeply when they were apart for even a short period of time. But his wants and needs weren’t important. Brenin deserved some space, especially as they’d been in each other’s pockets during the journey across the Atlantic.
“No, thank you, sir. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll just sit here and stuff myself full of lemonade and cookies. I’m sure the lads want to have their time to catch up.”
“Of course. You’re welcome to camp out here for as long as you like. I’ve finished my work for the day and could use the company, what with Quinn being off with the others.” He rubbed a hand down his thigh, a sure sign that he missed having his boy sitting on his lap.
Malcolm wiggled his ass as an exaggerated way to get comfortable. “That’s grand, then.” He held up the last bit of cookie. “Any chance of more of these, Emil?”
The chef tsked. “Of course. You’ll spoil the wonderful dinner I have planned, though.”
“Never. I have a bottomless pit for a stomach, as you well ken. And eating is one of my favorite ways to pass the time.”
He may as well indulge himself in that vice, as he very much feared his time with his lad was limited and getting more so with each passing day.
Chapter Four
“It’s so great for all of us to be together again—and for happy reasons.” Demi was a bundle of excited energy that rivaled anything Mackie was capable of.
Since entering into his official adulthood and extracting both a ring and a promise from Duncan, the hybrid had become increasingly upbeat. Dafydd focused his attention on the boy, as he often did. It boosted his courage and hope for the future with respect to his own child. This is what Idris can be if I try hard enough to make it happen. His inner voice didn’t bolster his mood as much as he would have liked. He was determined, however, not to wallow in fear and pessimism. It helped, as well, that his child wasn’t with him. It was always easier to find encouragement when he wasn’t weighed down by the unrelenting reminder that the baby provided about his origins.
Although his thoughts were on Demi, his gaze wandered constantly over to where Brenin sat curled up in a big chair. Alex’s living room was large, giving the boys plenty of room to spread out. While Dafydd appreciated being included in the gathering, he wasn’t comfortable sitting close to anyone. He’d snagged the far end of the sofa for himself. It gave him the ability to keep track of everyone in the room without the possibility of someone sneaking up on him from behind.
Will I ever be rid of that worry?
Probably not. It didn’t really matter anyway. He appreciated the new life he’d been handed. So long as he was aware of his surroundings and had his stash up on the roof, he could survive well enough. He wondered if Brenin had the same sense of comfort. He saw the moment the boy had entered the room that he, too, was struggling with the ‘after’. Their lives would forever be marked by the ‘before’ of Dracul and the ‘after’ of him. It was a daily trial. He could tell instantly that Brenin was suffering from it because there was the same look in the boy’s eyes that Dafydd saw every day in the bathroom mirror. He wanted to talk to Brenin about it. Perhaps they could offer some comfort to each other that the others could never do, despite their good intentions.
“It’s heather, can you see?” Demi had his ring right in front of Brenin’s face, oblivious to how uncomfortable he was making him with the closeness.
Brenin leaned as far back as his chair would allow. “Very nice, indeed. Engaged to be engaged, you say? Is that a thing here in America?”
“It’s a thing in Demi’s mind,” Quinn replied, but with a quick grin that conveyed he was teasing his friend.
Demi huffed and threw himself back into his own seat. “Duncan is being noble. He wants me to get on with my studies and mature…or something.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s only a matter of me wearing him down. Don’t make any big plans for next spring. I’m counting on a late-May wedding.” He eyed Brenin again. “I don’t suppose you could talk Malcolm into crossing over again in his yacht? A shipboard ceremony would be awesome.”
Brenin looked at his lap and said, “I expect Malcolm would do practically anything I ask of him.”
The melancholy in the boy’s expression and tone were all too obvious to Dafydd.
Do the others see it? Do they hear it? Can they even understand it on any level?
His heart—what was left of it—ached for his friend. They’d spent very little time together in the grander scheme of things, yet they knew and understood each other better than the other boys ever could.
“Awesome!” Demi grabbed a grape from the fruit-and-cheese plate Jase had laid out. After tossing it into the air, he caught it with his mouth. “Now I don’t have to worry about getting a venue. Kitty can DJ and Emil will cater, of course.”
“Of course,” Jase echoed. “Don’t eat too much. You know that Damien is working on a traditional clambake for tonight. It’s for the entire club, but our food will be served up here. There’ll be steamers, lobsters, corn on the cob, potato salad and rolls.” He ticked off each item on his fingers. “Oh, and Boston cream pie for dessert.”
Demi dismissed his concern. “As if I could fill up on this snack food. Trey says I’m too thin anyway. I could use some fattening up.”
The off-hand comment sent a frisson through Dafydd. “He’s controlling what you eat?” He blurted the question out before he could stop himself. Dracul had always been the gatekeeper of Dafydd’s food, although for the monster, it was about keeping Dafydd slender.
‘I don’t want you getting fat, slut.’
His breath caught. For a moment, it was as if the voice had come from somewhere outside him. He darted his gaze around the room, expecting he would find Dracul lurking in a dark corner. Something of his panicked response must have shown in his face.
Demi leaned forward. “It’s okay, Dafydd. I didn’t mean anything. It was a joke. That’s all.”
Dafydd swallowed down his silly fear and managed an anemic smile. “Yes, certainly. I should get back to Idris.” He started to rise, although he was lying through his pathetic teeth. It wasn’t his child that he wanted to hurry off to. It was the roof.
“No, stay,” Demi said. “Please. You know my father loves watching the baby, although I don’t know why, given his experience with me.” He rolled his eyes and grinned.
Mackie, Quinn and Jase all chuckled and giggled, sounding forced to Dafydd’s ears. They were trying so hard to include him and make him feel welcome. It was a waste of effort, for all that it was kindly meant. He was never going to fit in. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
“I know.” Dafydd stood anyway, the lure of the peace waiting for him on top of the building too hard to ignore. “Still…”
“You’ll be back for the clam bake, though, won’t you?” Quinn asked. His earnest expression was such that Dafydd didn’t want to disappoint.
“I will, yes, so long as Idris isn’t fussing.”
“We don’t mind if he is,” Mackie said. “Honestly, he’s—you know—adorbs.”
“And Dr. Paz is joining us,” Jase tossed in, not quite as casually as he might have thought. “Along with
Trey and Anderson,” he added.
But the boy had achieved his intended results. Dafydd’s heartbeat quickened at the thought of seeing the doctor again. Damn, he hated his own reaction. He didn’t want to want to see the man.
“Oh?” He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “That’s nice for him, I suppose—being at the club, I mean.”
His anxiety mounting, he knew he had to get out. Fast. Skirting his way around the chairs closest to him, he headed for the door.
Then he stopped and turned toward Brenin. “We’ll catch up later, yes?” He felt responsible for the boy in a strange sort of way. His own troubles aside, he wanted Brenin to have the chance to regain his life, at least.
Brenin nodded. “Sure, mun. I’ll see you later.” The way he couldn’t hold even Dafydd’s timid gaze spoke volumes.
Determined to be of help, Dafydd resolved to find a way to get Brenin alone at some point. Later that night, perhaps. It was a good reason to force himself to come to the party. If he concentrated on helping someone else, he could shove down his own problems and pretend he didn’t have any.
* * * *
“Hey, Ric.”
He turned to see one of his former colleagues come out of the condo building. He’d forgotten that she’d bought a unit in the same place he had in Charlestown. “Hi, Delia.”
He waited at the bottom of the stairs for her to reach him, then they did that half-hug, air-kiss thing that was so popular with their generation.
She grinned at him while repositioning her shoulder bag. “We miss you in the ED. How are things in the land of the dead?”
“Quiet.”
She barked out a laugh. “Besides that. I hear Vincente is as cold as his corpses.”
“Well…he’s not the cuddly sort,” he allowed, not wanting any negative comments to get back to his boss. Doctors were terrible gossips. “The work is interesting, though.”
“I suppose there’s some symmetry to it. Some of the people we treat unsuccessfully in ED end up with you, huh?”
Healing Dance Page 5