Renner Morgan
Seven Brothers for McBride 6
Renner Morgan
In a world of chaos, he never thought he’d find love…
Gentryman Quintus Hill is injured while running from a band of marauding slammers. He finds protection on Sheriff McBride’s land and an unexpected offer to become the companion of the powerful lawman. But Quintus finds himself attracted the compassionate slammer who tends to his injury.
As the only man on the farm with medical experience, Renner Morgan’s task was to heal Quintus. He never expected to be so attracted to him or to engage in passionate encounters that he knows can’t go anywhere. The issue of class might be changing in the virus-ravaged world, but stealing another man’s mate could get him killed.
When the two men’s struggle to resist one another proves futile, they forge a powerful bond that can only be broken by death. The question is, how far will McBride go to get his mate?
Genre:
Alternative (M/M or F/F), Futuristic, Paranormal
Length:
35,761 words
Seven Brothers for McBride 6
Anitra Lynn McLeod
EVERLASTING CLASSIC
MANLOVE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Everlasting Classic ManLove
RENNER MORGAN
E-book ISBN:
978-1-62242-281-4
First E-book Publication: February 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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Renner Morgan
by Anitra Lynn McLeod from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
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For Jon Stewart, who always makes me laugh.
RENNER MORGAN
Seven Brothers for McBride 6
ANITRA LYNN MCLEOD
Copyright © 2013
“I think that’s everything.” The butler had changed all the bedding, the towels, and ensured there were adequate toiletries in the small mechanical house. “I will restock the cookbot and make certain that he works.”
“Since Ollie rarely used him, he should be in perfect working order. If not, have Caleb—” McBride cut himself off. Caleb wouldn’t be around to fix things anymore. McBride had just watched him walk away, his face determined and his chin high. Letting him go was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he had because he loved Caleb enough to free him. “Call me if it doesn’t work and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Very good, sir.” The mechanical butler bowed and left the tiny house, presumably on his way to the big house for more supplies.
McBride inspected what once was Ollie’s house, double-checking that everything was ready for their guest. He didn’t like the idea of quarantining a man against his will, but he was sure Quintus would understand. Given what he did for a living, he would probably insist on it.
“That’s if he ever gets here.” McBride lifted his hand and touched his communication unit. Nothing happened. He tapped it lightly a few times, but it didn’t offer up the soft
ping
that indicated it was ready for outbound calls. McBride wasn’t all that surprised. The damn thing had been on the fritz since civilization started to fall apart.
It was amazing how quickly things could change in less than a month. The first indication of a problem was when McBride was called to the Larsden house. What greeted him there had been so horrific he continued to have nightmares long after. Blood was splattered across the front window of the house, and when he’d stepped within, it had been like an abattoir. Body parts from several slammers were tossed around like some kind of violent storm had struck only within the walls of the house. But it hadn’t been an act of nature. Just the virus-fueled strength of a landed gentryman.
Larsden had been infected with a disease that caused him to crave blood but also made him unable to receive any satisfaction from it while he was being overnourished by it. The more he drank, the more he wanted, and the stronger he got, until he went mad. The populace had called the disease the blood madness or simply going bloodmad. So far as McBride knew, only gentrymen were afflicted. Slammers drank blood, too, but they seemed to be immune. Because thralls didn’t drink, they couldn’t become ill, but they might be carriers. Since the world fell apart before McBride or his fellow lawmen could find the answer, they were flying pretty much blind.
As a crimetech, Quintus might be able to shed more light on the situation, but McBride hadn’t heard from him in days. During the last communication they had, McBride offered out his farm for Quintus to take refuge at since the town of Woven Spire had tumbled into utter chaos.
Once McBride knew there was no saving the town and most of his men had abandoned their posts in the dead of night, he didn’t bother to go into the center of the city to see the destruction firsthand. He knew it would be a mess and had no desire to see things for himself. When Karsten had come, he’d told them what he had seen, confirming McBride’s worst fears.
In the sharply delineated class system, gentrymen were at the top. Their numbers were about one-eighth that of the slammers. Generally, it took between four and ten slammers to adequately supply a gentryman with blood. Next came the thralls. Like the slammers, they were considered property, but unlike slammers, they didn’t drink blood. Thralls gave up their necks and bodies to the slammers, who in turn gave up their necks for the gentrymen. The Genetics Board endeavored to keep the number of slammers and the number of thralls fairly even. Far below thralls there were grinds, men whose sole purpose was to assuage the sexual needs of the gentrymen until they found a mate of their own class. Grinders had no rights and were less than one-eighth the numbers of the gentrymen. When they became too old or unattractive to be of use, they were reclassified as slammers. Most of them ended up dying in prison, waiting to be sold.
But that was the old way.
When the illness became too widespread for anyone to keep it suppressed, the slammers rebelled against their masters. Gentrymen were tossed into the stocks meant for slammers and then violated by the men they once owned. Slammers and gentrymen alike were raiding thrall houses, fighting over the pink-collared thralls and draining just about anyone they could of blood. McBride feared when it all settled out, only the slammers would be left standing.
The only reason his farm had been spared was the fact that it was far from the four surrounding towns, and most men, if they even knew about the farm at all, wouldn’t come here looking for anything since all they grew was
tallos
. It wasn’t edible, and given the state of the world, it no longer had any value except as a clothing fiber.
But McBride’s gut told him not to become complacent. Just because no one had bothered with them yet didn’t mean they wouldn’t do so eventually. Who knew what would happen in the future? To that end, McBride had told the mechanical valet to take up guard in the cupola at the top of the big house. McBride’s land stretched perfectly flat for miles, giving him a spectacular view. If anyone came near the farm, they would know long before they got close enough to do any damage.
The only drawback was the line of communication had gotten fuzzy when McBride’s strange illness had blasted him with headaches so violent he hadn’t been able to move. Caleb had stepped up and taken charge, but once McBride was better and refused to give in to Caleb’s demands, he’d left with only what he could carry. Since McBride didn’t trust his communication unit, he’d insisted the valet communicate directly with the butler, who would communicate directly with McBride. That way, he wouldn’t miss any vital information.
McBride was on his way to the big house, fiddling with his right earlobe, when a piercing scream split the air. He looked toward the garden and saw all the men running around the front of the big house. The butler was among them.
“What’s going on?” McBride yelled.
“There’s a man being chased down the long drive by a pack of slammers!” Jonas was running while carrying some garden tool. Rather than using it on the dirt, it was now clear he was intent on using it as a weapon.
Assessing the other men, McBride realized they were all doing the same thing. Rakes, hoes, and planting wedges weren’t going to do much against angry slammers. And then McBride’s belly felt suddenly full of rocks. Caleb had just gone down the long drive. If there were slammers intent on destruction, Caleb would either have to join them, or they would kill him. Caleb was the biggest and strongest of all the Morgan brothers, but he wouldn’t be able to fight off a mob of slammers.
“Those won’t work.” McBride ran to the shed as the butler spewed information at him via the valet. It seemed there were twenty-three men chasing a lone man. Caleb had confronted the pack. Words were exchanged. One of the men injured the man they were chasing.
“Injured him how?” McBride was grabbing guns out of the shed and passing them out as quickly as he could. Since he was the sheriff, he had a large cache of weapons in case the main office was out of commission due to a natural disaster or social uprising. At the time he’d thought having a storehouse of artillery on his land was ridiculous, but not now.
