Bloodline (7 page)

Cavan laughed. “You’re amusing, bloodsucker.”

“You’re not, cocksucker.”

Which earned him a face-plant into the stone floor.
Stupid
. He didn’t bother fighting back. Cavan had four faeries with him, but more important than that, Inigo didn’t want to risk damaging the little flask that he’d filled from the larger container and snuck into his pocket. He sat up.

“The bars are laced with silver,” Cavan said. “Don’t bother trying to get out.”

“By the way, I like my breakfast warm and cute. You’ll do at a pinch. Cold and ugly.”

Cavan growled, and behind his back, Inigo saw Ryn smiling. Was it pointless to hope one faerie at least was on his side? The faeries disappeared up the stairs, and Inigo pushed himself upright and slumped on the low bed, more awake than he’d felt in ages, which had to be down to that spot of spilled liquid, as was his ability to grab the silver flask and stick it in his pocket without burning his fingers.

His cell was a rectangle, five yards by eight, and one of several in the dungeon, though no others appeared occupied. Stone floor, ceiling and walls on two sides, and bars on the others. Apart from the bed and thin mattress, the only other item was a bucket. He wouldn’t need that unless he could knock someone out with it. He reclined on his back and tucked his arms behind his head. Even if he didn’t want to sleep, it would do him no harm to rest.

He wondered how Micah fared with the king. What had landed him in that situation? The look in the guy’s eyes told him exactly what he thought of Oberon. Inigo was torn between feeling grateful the king already had a punching bag and sorry that he couldn’t help the dark-haired faerie. But he was in enough shit without adding to it.

I am my own worst enemy.

During his exceedingly long life, Inigo had left none of the seven deadly sins untouched.

Sloth
. He’d spent many years making an art out of doing fuck all until it grew too boring to do nothing. Now it looked as if he was going to have to pay a high price for his
lack
of indolence, which didn’t seem fair.

Greed
. Show him a guy who wasn’t greedy for more of things he liked. The faeries had offered him whatever he wanted, and he’d stupidly thought he’d live to enjoy it.

Gluttony
. Overindulgence was Inigo’s watchword. No such thing as too much of what he liked. Plus that flask of brilliance was burning a hole in his pocket. Or maybe that was the silver.

Anger
. Almost everything and everyone pissed him off these days. Inigo was pissed off with that fuckwit Oberon, pissed off with Cavan because he couldn’t figure him out, and even pissed off with the poor sod who was Oberon’s whipping boy because he was making Inigo
feel
when he didn’t want to.

Lust
. Oh fuck
yes!
He was full of lust most of the time. Why was that a fucking sin? Cross it off the list.

Envy
. That wasn’t an issue because the moment envy reared its green head, Inigo stepped on, over, or through whatever he needed to in order to help himself to what he wanted. Though he never hurt anyone. That was one of his rules.

Pride
. He’d always thought he was a cut above the average vampire in terms of looks, breeding, and intelligence.
I am
. He was a brilliant tattoo artist. Too brilliant.

If he was so intelligent, what the hell was he doing in Faerieland? More to the point, in a cell, in a silver-barred dungeon in Faerieland? Maybe he ought to add stupidity to make it eight deadly sins, assuming he left lust in there, because it looked as though idiocy had put him on a fast track to being dead-dead.

He pulled the flask out of his pocket, ready to put it down, but his fingers still didn’t react to the silver. When would they realize what he’d done? Would Oberon remember he hadn’t seen it on the worktable? It wouldn’t take them long to figure out who’d taken it. He couldn’t figure out any place to hide it that they wouldn’t immediately find unless maybe he chucked it into another cell. But that was assuming he threw accurately enough for it to land under a bed,
and
assuming Cavan didn’t order all cells searched.

What if he just had a small sip or two and didn’t even pretend not to have it? Why did he even want another sip? His body clock had told him he needed to sleep, and that small drop had been like pouring concentrated caffeine into his veins. A long while since he’d drunk coffee. He needed to think about how to escape because tomorrow, that bloody outline would likely have vanished, and Oberon would not be a happy bunny. He’d probably take it out on Micah, and that made Inigo feel bad.
Shit.

Despite some concentrated thinking on his part, he came up with zilch. Even if he managed to get out of the dungeon and then out of the castle, where could he go? What if his immunity from sunlight had now been removed? He might need another sprinkle of faerie dust. He could tell someone, maybe Ryn, that the king’s tattoo wouldn’t stick, yet Micah’s had, though what if that only made trouble for Micah? The guy was deep enough in doodoo as it was.

As am I
. He twisted the flask between his fingers. Was he being manipulated in some way?

He stared at the flask. If he was going to go, he might as well go in a manner of his choosing. If one small blob of this gave him immunity to silver and had made his brain catch fire—not literally—then what would a mouthful do?

Drink or not to drink? That was the question.

* * * *

Micah struggled to stay on his feet as Oberon dragged him down the hallway by a chain attached to his collar. He hauled him into a dim room with no windows, clipped the end of the chain to a ring on the floor, and shoved him down. Light flared from wall sconces, and Micah gulped when he saw what else was on the walls. The pieces of metal looked like instruments of torture.

The door closed with a dull
clunk
, and when the king turned to face him, his eyes blazed with excitement.

“You know you’re going to die,” Oberon said. “It won’t be fast. What you don’t know is that if I allow you to speak, you’ll be begging me to end it by the time I’ve done with you.”

Micah’s heart lurched and then sank when he saw Oberon lift a whip from a hook on the wall. He was slow to curl up, and the first strike caught him on the side of his ribs, splitting his skin. Soundless cries burst from his mouth as he tried to avoid the blows. Time after time the whip came down until anger faded and pain was all he could feel.

When the whipping stopped, he turned his face to the wall and pressed his hands over his groin. To his horror, he felt Oberon naked behind him, sliding his erection in the crease of his butt. Micah had been in some…difficult situations in his current employment, but none like this. His powerlessness distressed him. He wanted to fight back, and he couldn’t. The bands of iron were lead weights keeping him down. He could barely construct a thought, but the knowledge of what was to come was all too clear.

Oberon panted against his throat; his excitement shone in every gasp. He nipped hard at Micah’s ear, cruel fingers digging into his hips as he shoved his cock back and forth over the seam of Micah’s butt.

I don’t want this. I don’t want this
. From somewhere deep inside him, he summoned a burst of energy with enough power to buck the king from behind him and send Oberon flying across the room. But that single act of resistance was as much as he could manage. Oberon was back on him a moment later, spitting with fury, thrashing Micah’s face with the handle of the whip, hitting him so hard that his grip on consciousness began to slip. He thought he heard a knock at the door, but Oberon didn’t react until the banging increased in volume.

“What is it?” Oberon snapped.

“The queen is anxious to speak with you.” Ryn’s voice.

“She can wait.”

“She says her news cannot wait.”

Oberon landed one final blow into Micah’s ribs and stood. Through glazed eyes Micah watched the king clean his own skin with magic and dress again. It didn’t escape his notice that there was not a single ink mark on the faerie’s back. He was pleased the king would be pissed off, but sorry for Inigo. The vampire was doomed.

When Oberon pulled open the door, Micah spotted Ryn standing there alone.

“Put that traitor somewhere secure,” Oberon said and stalked off.

Micah shied away when Ryn approached. He wasn’t sure how much more his body could take.

The faerie crouched to look at him. “You’ll live. For a while at least.”

Micah attempted to speak but nothing came out of his mouth. He tried to indicate that he had something to tell him, but the faerie unfastened the chain where it was attached to the floor, hauled him to his feet and out of the door.

More faeries waited in the corridor, and Micah watched their expressions tighten when they saw the state of him. They couldn’t be happy their king was a sadistic bastard, but maybe they feared what would happen to them if they said or did anything. If he could talk, he’d tell them about the Kewen and his suspicion that the king might be only half-faerie. The problem with the tattoo was enough evidence to convince them.

But he couldn’t even make a squeak.

He indicated he wanted to write and didn’t think they’d taken any notice until Ryn stopped and, after a quick glance around, produced paper and pen from thin air. Micah’s hand shook, but that wasn’t the reason he scribbled illegibly. He tried again and silently groaned in frustration. Whatever the spell was, it stopped all communication.

“Nothing I can do,” Ryn whispered in his ear. He actually sounded sorry.

“We’ll take him from here,” said a faerie guard, and Ryn stepped away.

Micah was dragged into the dungeon and shoved in a cell with the vampire.

“Here’s your dinner,” one the guards said and laughed.

“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” the vampire shouted.

Micah sprawled on the floor facing the bars. A jug of water and a plate of bread and cheese were pushed in next to him before the door closed. The faeries left.

The vamp crouched at his side. “Shit. What has that wanker done to you? That was rhetorical, though you can’t answer anyway, can you?”

Micah briefly attempted to resist when Inigo carefully scooped him into his arms.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The vamp laid him on the bed and brushed his hair from his eyes. As Micah looked at him, his lungs locked. Not the time, nor the place, nor the right species, but he felt the pull and knew Inigo felt it too. The vampire gently raised Micah’s head and tipped the jug so he could drink. He gulped at the water, most of which dribbled down his chest.

“Want me to try and take the iron off?” Inigo asked.

He nodded but doubted it could happen.

The vamp looked as surprised as Micah felt when the bands broke. He tossed everything into another cell, sat at the end of the bed, and sprang up again.

“Want something to eat?”

The heaviness in his head was gone, but Micah still struggled to sit. The vamp shot to the plate, brought it back, and helped him move into a sitting position.

“You ought to eat something if you can.”

Micah picked up the cheese and chewed. He didn’t take his eyes off the vampire, who grew more and more agitated. He kept getting up, pacing, then sitting down again, and his mouth was pressed tightly shut. Micah was slow to get it.
My blood. Fuck
. He was covered with the stuff, more cuts and grazes than he could count, some of them still bleeding.

“Were you born unable to speak?” Inigo asked as he dropped onto the bed.

He shook his head.

“The king took your voice?”

He nodded.

“Bastard. Something you did?”

He shook his head.

“Something you know?”

Micah nodded.

Inigo lurched to his feet again, went to stand as far away from Micah as he could, and then sprang back from the bars. Micah frowned as the vampire ran his hand down the metal and laughed.

“They told me they were laced with silver, but if that were the case, I wouldn’t be able to touch them unless…” He yanked at the lock, but it didn’t break; then he turned to face Micah. “Oh hell, you’re tempting.” The vamp closed his eyes and faced the other way. “You smell so good. I didn’t think I was hungry, but now I’m starving. They’ve done this deliberately, haven’t they? Stuck us together.”

He swiveled again, and his eyes were black. “If I could lick you, maybe that would be enough.” He gave a little grin. “The upside is that my saliva might heal you. Not that I’ve ever licked a whole faerie before, but it could work. You want to get out of here, right? We could work together.”

Micah put the cheese down. He wasn’t sure how much help a vampire could be in Faerieland, but Inigo had a kind, if currently anxious face. Not all vamps were shits. Just some of them. He held out his arm, wiped his finger along a bloody cut, and held it out.

Chapter Five

Oberon walked into the queen’s apartments trying to control his temper. Until he’d been formally crowned, he needed to keep her happy. Probably after that as well. Fucking irritating but he had to ensure everything was under control or life would unravel. It had already started to unravel after the arrival of Micah Norwood and his bigmouthed sister. Then that fucking tattoo hadn’t taken. What more could go wrong?

“The dress is ready,” his nowhere-near-beloved shrieked, her voice setting his teeth on edge. She emerged from her bedchamber followed by her pet wolf. “Isn’t it fantastic?”

“I’m speechless.”
With fury
. She’d dragged him here to show him a dress?

Maryse twirled in front of him in a brilliant white gown with a low neck and long sleeves trimmed with white feathers. The material sparkled as though it was smothered in raindrops, but each shining point was a diamond. Maybe she’d cut herself on it and bleed to death. He could always hope.

“Isn’t it the most gorgeous thing you ever saw?” She fluttered her eyelashes.