Bloodline (4 page)

“Don’t chop off his head,” Ellie blurted, and Micah gulped. “Once my brother finds out what’s going on with these missing children, even if he wishes to stay, if you won’t let me back, he should be allowed to return to the other side to say good-bye.”

“That’s acceptable. He can come back here with the original bill of sale.”

Ellie nodded.

“I have something to prove to Micah. Time for you to leave.”

“Better close this portal if you don’t want our parents bursting in on you,” she said. “And it’s really kind of you to let me learn to drive in your car, Micah. You’re the best brother ever.”

Micah was too worried by the guy next to him to respond. With one click of Oberon’s fingers, Ellie disappeared.

“Have you sent her back into the Thames?” Micah asked.

“No. She’s safe.” Oberon stepped toward him.

“Am I?”

He tensed as the king reached out to wrap a hand around his throat. As he squeezed, Micah fought the urge to bring his knee up into the guy’s balls.

“I don’t know,” Oberon whispered. “Are you? Do you want to be?” He squeezed harder and shoved him back until his head collided with the stone wall. Oberon’s other hand settled on Micah’s shoulder, and he forced him to his knees. “Show me what you can do. Make me want to keep you.”

The towel fell from his waist, and Micah stared at the king’s dick. It was already hard, the head glistening with precum, dark veins standing out on its length. When Oberon flexed his hips and pushed his cock against Micah’s lips, Micah opened his mouth like a baby bird. He hadn’t thought the guy would keep shoving, but he did and he had to let him, swallowing against the slick head, trying not to gag as it collided with the back of his throat. He moved his hands to the king’s thighs, but Oberon grabbed his wrists, hoisted his arms, and forced them back against the wall, pinning Micah like a bug while he fucked his mouth.

The position was uncomfortable, but he guessed that was the point. This wasn’t a gentle guy who cared for his partners, but a king who took what he wanted, when he wanted it, and in any way he fancied. Micah made a halfhearted effort to swirl his tongue around the thick cock, but the best he could manage was to tighten his lips and intensify the sensation for Oberon as the king bucked harder into him.

The way to survive was to cooperate.

Maybe.

What if the way to survive was to fight?

Micah kept his eyes open and watched Oberon watching him.

“You think you can come here and threaten me?” the king snarled through gritted teeth.

Oh fuck
. Even if Micah had wanted to point out that it had been Ellie who’d done the threatening, he had his mouth full and couldn’t speak anyway.
I’m going to fucking fuck this up before I’ve even fucking started.

Think of something.

But it was hard to think of anything other than a sense of relief that Oberon wasn’t doing anything worse than this. In a moment of cunning, Micah rubbed his middle finger over the king’s hands where they gripped his, and tried to sneak sounds of pleasure past the silky-steel flesh spearing his mouth. The sooner the guy came, the sooner this would stop.

He moaned louder, his discomfort not faked, and a smile lit Oberon’s face. “You know what I want to do to you?”

Not really.

“I’d like to shove my fingers inside you one after the other, then my hand and then my fist.”

Not going to happen, fuckwit.

“You ever been fisted, Micah? The pain is exquisite—so I’m told. The knowledge that I could reach into you and rip you apart from the inside out thrills me to a point of bliss. Your fear that I might damage you excites me beyond reason. Dare you trust me?”

Oh hell, thank fuck I can’t currently answer that.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen.” Oberon’s hips thrust faster, and his breathing faltered. “You’re going to be my new toy. But I don’t like toys that talk, particularly ones that might say things I don’t want others to hear. I can’t kill you yet because I need your family to think you’re having a lovely time here in Faerieland, but when you persuade them to come to pay their one and only visit with that fucking bill of sale, they won’t be going home.”

Micah’s heart pounded so hard he could feel it bruising his ribs.

“On the other hand, maybe I should just kill you and send my hunters after your family and that document. If you’re all dead, I don’t have a problem anymore. But I like you. I like new toys. I’ll leave your family alone for a while until I tire of you.” The king laughed. “And by then, you’ll be such a slut for my dick, you won’t fucking care what I do to anyone.”

The groan that slipped past Oberon’s cock was one of fury and despair, and Oberon knew it.

“Maybe I don’t even need to send my hunters after them. All I have to do is ask them to come to my coronation as my guests of honor.”

He released Micah’s hands and instead cupped the back of his neck, but Micah kept his arms high.

“Fuck fuck fuck. You have the sweetest mouth, the prettiest eyes. Your hair’s as dark as mine. I’m tired of blonds. I could be fucking myself.” Oberon groaned loudly, his cock swelled, and Micah was forced to swallow an increasing amount of precum.

He knew he might only have one chance to convince the guy this was what he wanted, those couple of seconds when the king’s cock slipped from his lips, unless the wanker had already bespelled him dumb. But what to say? Was he supposed to like being hurt or not? Did Oberon get his kicks from sexual sadism? Or was he a Dom who, deep down, cared for his subs? Micah doubted the latter but maybe a semiwilling masochist would be appealing. Not someone who asked to be hurt, but a guy who battled with that desire.

“I’m going to shove my cock all the way down your throat.” Oberon growled out the words.

And I’ll fucking bite it off
. Micah’s heart ached. He was over his head in trouble.
I’m not sure I can do this.

Oberon wanted him silent. It wasn’t hard to conclude Ellie’s supposition was right—this king was half-human and feared being exposed. His father had been either Drake or Silas, or his mother Cecily. A parent from the three mortal children exchanged for the Kewen. One must have married a faerie and produced this fucking bastard.

The Elders wouldn’t want a half-breed on the throne. Presumably no one suspected the truth except for the Norwood family and the ancestors of the three mortals, assuming they were still in Faerieland and hadn’t already been silenced. Oberon’s suggestion of looking for them might have been an attempt to misdirect Ellie.

The king was going to come soon, the slap of his balls on Micah’s face growing more frantic, as did Micah’s thoughts. Apart from the other job he’d come here to do, the possibility of which seemed to be receding into the distance at an ever-increasing pace, he had to find a way to warn his family and to save his own neck by convincing Oberon he was worth keeping.
Worth hurting.

Too late now to wish Ellie had just handed the Kewen back and said nothing about that bill of sale. How stupidly naive they’d been. A loud roar burst from Oberon’s lips as he emptied himself into Micah’s mouth. He swallowed and swallowed and tried to look and sound as though he was vaguely enjoying himself. Then he panicked that it was the wrong approach, and Oberon would only want him if he fought.

Which way do I jump?

This wasn’t a guy easily fooled. He liked to inflict pain, and it was more fun if the recipient didn’t want it. The moment Oberon pulled his cock out of Micah’s mouth, he spat out the cum he’d managed not to swallow and head butted the king in the groin.

Seconds later, Micah was facedown on the floor with Oberon sitting on his back, pulling his hair so hard he thought his scalp would rip.

“You little bastard. That hurt.”

“Good,” Micah grunted.

Micah’s head snapped to the side, and he groaned in pain. When Oberon threaded his fingers in Micah’s hair again, he tensed.

“And that’s the last word you’ll say until I decide otherwise.”

Micah tried to speak and couldn’t.
Fuck.

“Don’t worry. I take good care of my toys.”

That’s what Micah was afraid of.

Chapter Three

When Inigo came around lying flat on his back in broad daylight, he worried. No, to be honest, he fucking freaked out big-time. Daylight? Vampire? Never the twain? But even as he swung his head from side to side in a desperate search for shade before he turned into a crispy critter, he registered not only that he wasn’t on fire, but he also didn’t even feel vaguely uncomfortable.

Well, maybe he did feel vaguely uncomfortable because he lay in a cobblestone courtyard with something sharp under his left hip. But nowhere near as uncomfortable as if he was burning to death. Not that he knew for certain what that was like, but he could imagine. He started to think about—then stopped himself. He was in enough trouble without letting himself get distracted.

Three of the faeries who’d come to his shop stared down at him. He gazed past their faces into a brilliant blue sky and swallowed hard.

I’m out in daylight. Fantastic.

I’m in Faerieland. Shit.

Then the one who’d done all the talking appeared at the edge of his field of vision.

“You look like a black bug,” the faerie said and lifted his foot.

As he brought it down toward the center of Inigo’s chest, Inigo grabbed the guy’s heel, twisted hard, and tossed him so that the faerie flew over his shoulder. Unluckily for the faerie, he didn’t have time to let out his wings.

Before Inigo could get to his feet, the faerie was on him, and they flung punches at each other, rolling over the ground. Inigo ended up on his back, the faerie on top, his hands wrapped around Inigo’s neck.
Shit, I should be able to handle one faerie. What’s the matter with me?

“Cavan, no,” shouted one of the others as he tried unsuccessfully to drag off Inigo’s assailant.

“Stay out of this, Ryn,” snapped the guy strangling him.

No, stay in this, Ryn!

Blood dripped from a graze on Cavan’s cheek, and as the faerie released his hold on Inigo’s neck, Inigo couldn’t help himself. He shot out his tongue and slurped up the dribble of red.

“Yum.” Inigo grinned.

“You little shit,” the faerie hissed and kneed in him the groin.

Oh hell. That hurt
. Fired up with fury, Inigo managed to land a few hard blows of his own before they were dragged apart, the smaller one called Ryn clinging to Cavan’s arm and trying to pull him back. The faerie’s reward was a flurry of blows to the stomach and face. It took two to pull Cavan off Ryn, and Inigo gulped when he saw blood trickling from a cut above Ryn’s eye. He pushed himself to his feet, dismayed to find he was shaky and even more dismayed that his fangs were prickling like mad, telling him they wanted more where that drop of blood had come from. Faeries were delicious, even big brutish ones.

“Pick up your equipment, bug,” Cavan barked, brushing off his friends and then his clothes. “The king’s waiting for you.”

Inigo wished he’d said no more firmly when the four had arrived at his shop, though he knew damn well it wouldn’t have made a difference. He should have run, burst out the door and bolted, but greed, gluttony, and pride had overpowered his common sense. That and faerie dust.
The bastards.

They led him across the courtyard into a castle-like building made of large blocks of pale stone, along corridors with sides open to grassy quads and past men and women dressed in pastel-colored clothing—all of them gawking, none looking happy, a few with their wings out.
Pretty
. He didn’t need to feed, but he wanted to. He felt like the Ancient Mariner.

Faeries, faeries everywhere nor any drop to drink.

He gazed sideways to look at the sky, and each glimpse of blue filled him with awe.
I never thought I’d ever see such a sight again
. Maybe not until he died, and he’d barely have time to enjoy the experience of being out in daylight before it killed him.

I’m
out
in the daylight. Why aren’t I dead?

His brain clicked into gear.
Oh fuck, I’m as good as
. No way would they let him tell another vampire it was possible to live under the sun in Faerieland. There would be a mass exodus over the Divide. Vamps would force faeries to reveal the whereabouts of portals.
I’m not going to be allowed to leave
. He didn’t even know how he could. If the portal they’d brought him through wasn’t in the place where he’d woken—and he doubted it because otherwise there would be faeries falling into it all the time—he had no idea how to find or open one.

But maybe he could persuade some faerie to give up the secret. Ryn had tried to help him, and glamour might work.

What he needed was time. To think, to plan, to find a way out or a compelling reason why he shouldn’t be killed—at least not right away.

A never-ending tattoo.

This is the tattoo that never ends; yes, it goes on and on, my friend. I started to do it, not knowing what it was, and I’ll continue doing it forever just because… This is the tattoo that never ends… Oh fuck.

Could he make up some excuse to do it slowly while he figured things out? He could deliberately drain the batteries for his gun and have to return to replenish them. He could…er…um…

His mind went blank…apart from that bloody song.

Unfortunate, since he had no one to rely on but himself. He wouldn’t be missed except by skins upset he’d disappeared without a word. He knew nobody of influence. He might be a brilliant tattoo artist, but it wasn’t exactly a skill no one else had.

The faeries led him into one of the most beautiful rooms he’d ever seen. It had windows open to the outdoors, long, wispy drapes fluttering in a warm breeze, a sea of flowers inside and out. The brightness of everything dazzled him. He tried hard to make his tattoos vibrant with color, but nothing beat the real thing. If he was going to die, at least he’d had this. He put his bag on the floor and waited.