The Gunslinger's Man (21 page)

“Don’t be a fool. Octavian may be gone, but Ambrose’s spies are everywhere. The more consumed he is with his pet, the more they try to get in with his progeny. All this jockeying for power’s gonna leave a lot of people dead.”

The blunt end of the knife grazing his Adam’s apple, Asher swallowed hard. “Way you’re going, you could be one of them.”

“So could you.”

Difference is, my life doesn’t matter.
Halloran had his crew to think of. With him gone, they’d probably scatter—but not before tearing Sargasso apart in revenge.

Visions of Redemption drowning in flames and broken bodies flashed behind Asher’s eyes, as vivid as silent pictures. He didn’t know how to banish that horrid sight without hooking a hand around Halloran’s nape and dragging him close.

Their misaligned lips met in a harsh kiss. Asher surged into it with teeth and tongue, and didn’t stop when he tasted blood. He knew the flavor well by now. He didn’t shy from the potent, giddy sensation that came with Halloran bearing them into the dirt and covering Asher with his body.

The ground was hard beneath his back, Halloran as unyielding as marble, pressing him down. Breath became an afterthought as they yanked and fumbled with the fastenings of each other’s clothes. It didn’t matter that they could be seen for miles. The desire to feel Halloran’s bare skin beneath his hands had lit a fire in Asher’s chest that no wind chill could banish.

With inhuman speed, Halloran sat up to tug at his belt. He kept one hand cruelly pressed to Asher’s chest, lest he try to follow, and the short reprieve from his kisses triggered a protesting moan. Others followed once Halloran freed his cock.

“Is this what you want?” he growled, sliding a hand down his hard length.

Asher’s own erection twitched at the sight. “Let me up.”

Confusion flashed through Halloran’s eyes.

“Please,” Asher tried. “Please, I need…”

The pressure on his chest desisted before he could plead properly. It was just as well. The specifics eluded him but his yearning formed a sweeping fog fueled by Halloran’s touch.

Asher licked his lips. He might have been hazy on what he wanted precisely, but he knew how to go about getting it.

He followed Halloran’s retreat with less finesse than a vampire would have managed. He was hesitant in putting his hands on Halloran’s knees. Sliding them up was a herculean task. With every heartbeat, he expected Halloran to reverse them and have his way. He’d done it before, albeit at Asher’s instigation.

A fickle alloy of lust and dread vibrated in Asher’s chest as he dropped his head and slowly, more tentatively than he would have liked, put his mouth around Halloran. It was and wasn’t the same as doing it with a hot-blooded man. Halloran’s skin tasted faintly alkaline. His hips might as well have been carved of stone for how little they moved beneath Asher’s timid ministrations.

That wouldn’t do.

On a whim, Asher let his teeth graze the vein on the underside of Halloran’s cock. The answering hiss dispelled any illusion of stoicism. Asher redoubled his efforts, sucking in earnest, as he’d learned when he was sixteen and sneaking out to meet Wesley behind the church. As he’d done for tradesmen traveling through town when they liked the look of him. Keeping the cold at bay in a town like Sargasso was easier with a lover. Those who were there one day and gone the next were the safest. They taught Asher how to use his mouth. They helped him practice letting go.

Whatever small seed of affection bloomed in his chest when Halloran stroked his hair away from his brow or whispered soft praise, it had to be quashed. Asher pulled off with a twinge in his jaw and burning lungs, and pressed his mouth to Halloran’s. His fingers slid effortlessly through the mess of spit and pre-cum on Halloran’s length. Faster now, the way he liked to do it to himself. Faster, because Halloran’s teeth were no longer flat and harmless. Faster, because the sun was high and someone could stumble upon them. Asher stroked him faster because he wanted to see Halloran when he found his peak, in that liminal instant before pleasure subsumed all other sensation.

He didn’t have long to wait. Halloran gripped his hand, slotting his own thicker fingers through the gaps between Asher’s, and spilled between them with a harsh-bitten moan.

Asher swallowed the sound with frenzied, hungry kisses. The thin trickle of his blood, seeping from a small puncture in his lower lip, was a fair trade.

Tremors shook Halloran in the final throes before his grip curbed Asher’s caresses and forced him to stillness. If Halloran had had a heartbeat, Asher imagined he would have felt it beneath his hand. He didn’t mind the quiet. His own pulse hammered at his ears like a Gatling gun.

“Still thinking about who’s gonna try to kill us next?” Asher teased, sitting up. He wiped his hand against the thighs of his trousers. They were so dusty and stained already that one more smudge wouldn’t attract any notice.

Halloran hummed under his breath. “Is that what that was? A distraction?”

“What else?”

The look he leveled at Asher spelled out dubiety. “You didn’t,” he pointed out after another moment had elapsed.

“I’m fine,” Asher said, and meant it. His pants were a little tight and his cock practically throbbed with need, but that wasn’t reason enough to beg for Halloran’s hand.

He’d gotten this far without imploring his so-called master. Everything else was already forfeit, but not this. This last shred of pride, Asher meant to keep.

Hat slightly askew, Halloran propped himself on his elbows and peered up at him. “You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

The reminder stung. Asher smiled bitterly. “As if you’d let me forget it.”

“That’s not…” Halloran let out a long, exasperated breath and sat up the rest of the way. For a man who’d been boneless with pleasure just moments before, he was certainly dexterous in fastening his pants and cinching his belt. Dust rose up in saffron cloud when he scraped the heel of his boot into the dirt. Spurs jangled in the hush of the valley. “You’re one stubborn sprout, you know that?”

“And you’re too easy.”

Halloran swung his gaze to meet Asher’s—quick for a human, too slow for a vampire. The shiv Halloran had been working so hard to polish fit perfectly into Asher’s hand.

“Love ’em and kill ’em, huh?” Halloran drawled, tucking one leg under him and rising into a half crouch. “Didn’t think that was your way.”

“It’s not.” Which was why Asher flipped the knife around and held it out to Halloran, hilt first. “We should head back.”

His erection had subsided enough that he could face the long walk to Willowbranch unimpeded. He didn’t relish the thought of rejoining the Riders, but the longer he let Halloran indulge him, the harder it would be to return to the strictures of Sargasso.

Free rein only meant more rope to hang himself with.

They trudged back in silence, side by side like allies, like friends, both of them knowing they weren’t. Both unable or unwilling to put a name to what it was that bound them.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Doc was so hasty in locking the door behind him that he didn’t seem to notice Asher until they stood face-to-face. “Oh my goodness!” One hand clamped to his rib cage, he reached the other up to stop his spectacles from sliding down his nose.

“Sorry,” said Asher insincerely. “Didn’t see you there.”

The stairwell was a wide, swooping spiral connecting all three stories of Ambrose’s home. From the landing, the view down the eastern corridor was unimpeded. Asher couldn’t have missed the doctor’s furtive exit if he’d tried.

“It’s quite—I was just, ah…” Flustered, Doc glanced over his shoulder at the closed wooden door, as if to remind himself which room he’d stepped out of.

“How is Miss Angelita?”

Since dinner had been such a success the last time, Asher’s name must have been scratched off the guest list. He hadn’t seen Ambrose or Ambrose’s plaything in a handful of days. Admittedly, he hadn’t had much time to deplore the snubbing since Willowbranch. The handling of the cattle still called for more men than Sargasso had to offer.

“Better,” Doc replied, with a smile that didn’t reach the deep-set eyes behind his thin spectacles. “The fresh sea air would help speed along the recovery, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” He cleared his throat. “I was actually on my way to, um…”

Arms folded across his chest, Asher planted himself in the way. “Ambrose won’t allow her the treatment she needs?”

“Indeed.”

It wasn’t an answer. “Shame. She seems nice.” She probably was, the same way ornamental flowers were nice until they wilted in the vase. “Well, if there’s anything I can do…” Asher gestured his willingness to help. He lacked any sort of medical competence and Dr. Matheson didn’t seem like the type to welcome a second opinion if he was.

“Thank you. I’m sure we can manage, but thank you.” Doc shammed a cough. “If you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh, of course.” Asher turned to let him pass.

Like the rest of Ambrose’s manor, the corridor was large enough for two men to walk abreast without rubbing shoulders. If Asher’s elbow happened to brush the doctor’s flank, it was no accident. They traded apologies for it, but Doc seemed to be in too much of a hurry to give the hindrance any thought.

His tread faded hastily down the stairs and out the front door. Presumably he was bound for the general store to retrieve his orders of expensive medication, not easily procured so deep in the valley. Asher had seen him slithering about town on such errands before. He’d wondered what they might be about, but asking the doctor was out of the question. Halloran had plainly said he didn’t know.

The house was quiet around Asher. Ambrose had left early to see the ruin of New Morning Farm for himself. Malachi was off doing whatever it was Malachi did with his time—spinning webs for the rest of them, most probably.

There was no obstacle between Asher and the bedroom door. He slid Dr. Matheson’s key from the palm of his hand and into the lock, mindful of making too much noise. If it should come out that he was trespassing, he could always claim Doc had neglected to close the door behind him. For whatever reason, Ambrose had spared Asher thus far. He wouldn’t break with tradition now.

Sure about that?
crowed a voice at the back of his mind.

Asher smothered it. Ambrose wouldn’t dare.

He might, Asher decided once his eyes fell on a very nude, very much
not
ailing Angelita on the other side of that locked door.

“Did you forget something, Doc?” She swiveled her gaze around just as Asher made to avert his.

Bewilderment made him slow. An unnatural force seizing his mind did the rest.

“You!” Angelita took a step back. “What are
you
doing in here? Who let you…?” Her gaze trailed down the frozen tendons in his arm to the key.

“I thought…” Asher started, but the pressure in his skull snagged him by the throat, arresting his breath.

He had felt that snare close around him once before. He had seen it in action, wielded against Malachi at Ambrose’s table.

But Ambrose wasn’t here.

Angelita yanked her peignoir off the bed and hastily threw it on. The silk shimmered as it caught the light streaming through the window. So did the vials arrayed on the dresser, too crimson to contain anything as harmless as perfume.

“You’re not supposed to be here.
No one is supposed to be here!
” Angelita’s voice shook as she pulled the sides of the peignoir tighter together. The invisible hand squeezing Asher’s throat clenched just as solidly.

He scrambled for purchase, yet his fingers encountered nothing but air. He dug his nails in only to feel his own skin give way to the useless scratching. His racing pulse no longer marked the passage of time. With every throbbing beat, Asher lost a little more strength, a little more of his grip on reality.

Angelita became a foggy mirage. Blood rushed against Asher’s eardrums. Blood filled his throat.

As suddenly as it had begun, the ghostly claw released him.

Gravity tugged him down in a useless heap. He slammed his palms against the floor, barely succeeding in keeping his head from striking the wooden boards.

Angelita’s room echoed with his wet, pitiful coughing. It was only right, given that its owner was responsible.

“How…how did you…” Asher’s vocal cords would not cooperate. His throat smarted, bruised from the inside.

And yet Angelita was watching him with wide doe eyes, visibly anxious. She shrunk back toward the corner between the bed and the window when he pushed himself to his knees. She seemed confused as to who was the real predator here.

“How about,” Asher wheezed, “some water?” His voice was husky with effort.

Angelita didn’t move.

“Water, please.” Asher jerked his head toward the pitcher on the dresser for good measure. He could probably get to it himself once he managed to stand up. That was going to take a while.

To his great chagrin, Angelita seemed willing to wait him out. If she’d been a cat, she would have arched her back and hissed at him by now—a lesser threat than the one she presented standing there petrified.

Asher settled his back against the bed. At this rate, he was going to have to crawl out and try to get as far from Sargasso as he could before Ambrose or his progenies found out what he’d done. Looking in on the mayor’s pet with less-than-honorable intentions was one thing. Scaring her, quite another.

And there was still the small matter of the red-black vials laid out on the dresser.

“That’s…that’s some trick,” he breathed, wrestling with another bout of coughing. “Halloran thinks you’re all human, you know that? Reckon he ain’t the only one.”

All those painted guests at Ambrose’s shindig had viewed him with such admiration. Angelita, they had ignored or complimented as they might do a handsome piece of furniture.

Her silence seemed as solid as stone.

“You’ve got everyone fooled, huh? Ambrose too?” Asher thumped his head against the footboard. With his eyes shut, he could concentrate on sucking air into his starved lungs and letting it out again with slow, deep puffs. His heart should stop pounding at his ribs soon. “No, I bet—I bet he knows… He got you the help you need so he can go on…using and abusing that talent you got for pain. Sure was nice of him.”