Devon Morgan [Seven Brothers for McBride 5] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (4 page)

The tattered red robe he wore parted down the center and fell open, revealing that he was nude below. One glance at his body told Devon he was a thrall. His body was lightly muscled but utterly hairless. Determined not to stare at him and thereby take further advantage of him, Devon turned his gaze up to the man’s face.

Tears had tracked down through the dirt on his cheeks. Somewhere under all that dust was a terribly handsome young man. With his platinum-blond hair and bright blue eyes, he must have been a highly sought after thrall. That thought drew Devon’s gaze down to his neck.

“Zooks.” A pink collar encircled his neck, but it was clear someone, or several someones, had struggled to remove it. Bloody fingerprints and ragged bite marks covered the portion of pink leather that Devon could see. But that wasn’t what caused him to gasp out a swear. Ragged scars from bite marks made a horrible ring around his neck. If not for the protective collar, Devon feared they would have bitten him to death. Dreading what he would see, he looked down along his body. At first, all he saw was beautiful pale skin, but the longer he looked, the more he saw faint bruises in the shape of hands. The only saving grace Devon was able to see was that they hadn’t bitten all over his form. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And then the worst thought he’d ever had made Devon swallow hard. What if they hadn’t been content just to drink his blood? Devon didn’t want to know almost as much as he did. In order to inspect his body, he was going to need to get the manacles off his legs. One quick look told him the only way they were going to come off without the key was to use powerful tools.

Lifting his gaze, he realized the same was true for his hands. There was no way for Devon to free him or even to get him up onto his mount, not without injuring him. Given how weakly he was drawing breath, Devon didn’t think he could take much more. Sadly, he might not even make it back to the big house. If Devon had an implant, he could call back for help, but he didn’t. Only gentrymen had the communication units. Still, if Devon didn’t return, they’d eventually send someone else out. Or so he hoped. Because one thing Devon knew for certain was that he wasn’t going to injure him by trying to put him on the
dressiter
, but there was also no way in hell he was going to leave him out here to die alone.

Karsten Jones felt like he was floating. Up he went into the hot sun. Eventually, he’d be close enough to touch it, and it would burn him to a cinder. More than anything in the world, he wanted to be vaporized back into nothing but his elements. After what had happened, he never wanted to walk the Earth again or even open his eyes.

But the pull of gravity was so much stronger than that of the sun. Karsten felt himself being sucked back down and slammed into his body. Pain hit, making him cry out, but his throat was so dry all that emerged was a weak cackling breath. Bright sunlight made his eyelids glow red, giving him a vision of a blood-coated existence. Soon, he’d run out of blood and the vicious men would leave him be so he could slowly die.

A shadow passed over his face, offering him slim comfort against the heat and light that beat down on him. After a great struggle, Karsten opened his eyes. Above him was a man with extremely short black hair and unusual aquamarine eyes. Surely, Karsten was hallucinating. No way would his savior be the most handsome man he’d ever seen. But maybe after all the abuse he’d suffered, the gods were being kind to him. Or maybe not. Karsten didn’t believe in any gods, so he couldn’t understand why any of them would be interested in his fate one way or the other. This man, whoever he was, if he was real or not, was just another blood drinker who would scrabble at his neck looking for a place to bite. In their haste, they hadn’t tried tools to remove his locked collar. They just shoved the pink leather out of the way and bit him as best they could. The pain had flared to utter agony, but now that his entire body hurt, he hardly noticed one spot anymore.

“I’m sorry I can’t do much but keep the sun off your face.”

Karsten struggled to comprehend. It took a moment to realize that what the man had done was take his hat off and hold it so it cast a shadow over Karsten’s face, blocking out the harshness of the sun. It was the most minor of gestures, but it gave Karsten a taste of hope. Would this man help him?

“I’m Devon. I live here. It’s a
tallos
farm.” He smiled, but it was clear he wasn’t happy, and Karsten realized Devon wasn’t sad about himself or where he lived, but he was barely able to look at Karsten without wincing. Karsten thought he must look beyond dreadful. “Well, it was a
tallos
farm, but given what’s happened with the world, we aren’t growing that anymore.”

“No?” Karsten asked only to keep Devon talking. He had a low voice that was somehow powerful yet soothing at the same time.

“No. Well, we’re going to harvest what’s planted now to use for ourselves, but Jonas is teaching everyone to plant and grow food. Not that we don’t have stores, because we do, but we’ll need more. Especially if we get more men out here. We need a few more men.”

Karsten watched as a blush washed over the big man’s features. Somehow, he managed to look even more virile in his embarrassment. Strong but sweet. Karsten wouldn’t let himself believe what he was seeing. He’d thought the mob of gentrymen that had yanked him out of the thrall house was rescuing him from the marauding slammers, but they’d trussed him up and viciously used him. In a very short time, Karsten had learned not to trust anyone. Even this kindly stranger could be planning all kinds of sick perversities behind his compelling eyes.

“Your poor head.” Devon let go of the hat, laying it on Karsten’s chest. He leaned back and took his shirt off. Karsten was going to scream, to struggle, but Devon only folded it up and tucked the roll of fabric behind Karsten’s head. “I know it’s not much, but it will have to do for now.”

To Karsten, it was everything. In the last two days, no one had done anything for him at all. They had taken what they wanted from him—blood—not caring in the least that they were killing him. He couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten away.

Devon picked up his hat and used it to shield Karsten’s face from the sun again. The respite from the pain gave him a flash of memory. The slammers and gentrymen had turned on one another. While they were fighting, Karsten had managed to free himself and hurried away. He wondered if they’d even noticed.

“I guess it’s pretty bad out there.” Devon lifted his head and looked back presumably down the way Karsten had come.

“Every street was filled with madness.”

Devon nodded, which caused the hat in his hand to waver. Sun struck Karsten’s face, making him blink rapidly. He thought about just closing his eyes, but if this man was thinking of taking advantage he wanted to see it coming. Not that he could do anything to protect himself, just that he’d rather know than not.

“Sorry.” When Devon realized Karsten was getting blinded, he moved over so that his massive body blocked the sun. He plunked the hat on his head, shading his eyes but somehow making them stand out. “I don’t have the tools to cut you free.”

Karsten wanted to cry, but he didn’t have the water left in his body to do so. Besides, he couldn’t get any more miserable than he already was. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I would never.” Devon settled down in the black dirt on his knees. “Soon the others will come and—”

“No!” Karsten struggled to get up so he could run, but all his pathetic attempt did was hurt his already battered wrists.

“Whoa.” Devon placed his big hand on Karsten’s chest to hold him still.

Somehow, his touch contained him but didn’t scare him. How could that be? When any of the others had touched him, he screamed out in fear and impotent anger. Karsten stopped when his cries didn’t bring help but only brought more men who fought to use him.

“My brothers aren’t mindless men looking to take advantage of others. Three of them have thralls of their own.”

“Do you?”

“No.” Devon’s gaze darted away then returned. “But I wouldn’t hurt you, either.”

“I don’t—I don’t believe you.” Karsten realized the foolishness of angering his supposed rescuer right after he spoke.

“Believe me, I understand why.” Devon’s hand was centered on Karsten’s chest, but his fingers were making soft, calming strokes. It was as if he was pinning him down but attempting to comfort him at the same time. When Devon realized what his wayward fingers were doing, his eyes went wide. He yanked his hand away, and he hastily brought the edges of Karsten’s tattered robe together. “After what you’ve been through, I doubt you’ll ever trust anyone again.”

Karsten didn’t speak because he was too choked up to talk. For all his gruff appearance, Devon seemed to be a genuinely kind man. But he was a slammer, and when his blood hunger kicked in, he would go from caring to compelled to drink.

Something—a sound? A flash out the corner of his eye?—made Devon turn his head. “Finally.”

“Finally what?”

“One of my brothers is coming.”

“No.” Karsten didn’t even bother struggling. He had nowhere to go and no way to get there even if he did.

“No one will hurt you.” Devon frowned down at Karsten. “Tell me what you need to believe me.”

Karsten thought of a dozen things that he needed, but not one of them would convince him of Devon’s sincerity. And then, the answer came to him. It was crazy, and potentially very foolish, but he didn’t feel he had any other choice.

“You said you don’t have a thrall?”

Devon hung his head and shook it slowly side to side.

“Make me your thrall, and I’ll trust that you’ll keep me safe.”

McBride woke up alone in his bed. He was dressed but for his boots, and his headache had retreated from excruciating agony to a dull throb. He took a moment to look around. Everything was where it belonged. It was easy enough to assess when he didn’t really have much of anything in the room. McBride liked things tidy and tucked away. One look at the window told him it was midday given how light it was outside. What in the world was he doing sleeping in when the rest of the men were no doubt scrambling to get the food field planted? He was lucky he had Jonas, or everything would just go to hell very quickly.

He swung his legs out of bed and fought down a wave of nausea. How the hell could his stomach be so grouchy when he hadn’t eaten anything? Maybe that was the problem. When was the last time he ate anything? That prompted him to try to remember the last time he drank. A horrible montage of images came to him. He’d trussed up Caleb and toyed with him, threatened him, and ultimately set him free and stumbled away in shame for what he’d done.

McBride realized he hadn’t been himself lately. Just about the only good thing was that he knew he didn’t have the blood-borne pathogen that had decimated society. If he had gone bloodmad, he’d be driven to drink nonstop from his slammers. Right now, the only blood he had a hunger for was Caleb’s, and that was about something far more than nourishment.

As if he’d summoned him, Caleb stepped into McBride’s room.

“Mighty bold of you to just walk right into my room without knocking.” McBride rose to his feet and stayed there despite the most intense head rush he’d ever experienced. Clearly, he needed to eat something and soon.

“I’m about to get bolder.” Caleb closed the door behind him. “Get back into bed.”

Against his efforts to stop it, a smile crossed McBride’s face. “I’d be happy to. As long as you crawl in there with me.”

Caleb looked sorely tempted by the offer, but in the end he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Back you go, and you go solo.”

“Make me.”

“Don’t try my patience, McBride. I can’t run everything and make you stay put, too.”

“Run everything? Since when the hell are you in charge of my farm?” McBride rose to his full height even though doing so cost him dearly. Posturing was surely the death of most gentrymen.

“I got put in charge when you took a turn for the worse.”

“Well, I’m all better now.” But he wasn’t, and he knew it, but he’d be damned twice over if he’d let his men see him being weak.

“You’re not.” Caleb’s voice was soft and sad. It was suddenly clear to McBride that he hadn’t usurped his power for fun. Caleb honestly didn’t want to have to be in charge of everything, but he also felt he had no choice. “Please get back into bed and let me take care of you.”

As tempting as it was, McBride simply couldn’t lay idle while everyone else was working. When he told Caleb, he frowned and shook his head.

“You aren’t any good to us if you’re falling down in agony.”

“Whatever was bothering me has—” Another bolt of pain swelled up in his head until he thought his skull would simply explode. A part of him was wishing it would because then he’d be out of his misery.

Caleb was there, guiding him down until he was sitting on the edge of his bed. His big hands were gentle, his words nonsensical and soothing.

“So that’s how to get you into my room. I just have to feign illness.” McBride gripped Caleb’s shoulders but not with lust. He was terrified if he let go he was going to flop back like a half-full bag of
tallos
buds.

“If this is you faking an illness, I’d hate to see the real thing.” Caleb started to pull up the covers, but McBride pushed them away.