Renner Morgan (6 page)

“Please.”

Drawn by the plaintive need in his voice, Renner turned and knelt by Quintus’s bedside. “Anything.”

Rather than ask, Quintus angled up just a bit and kissed Renner. Confused by competing instincts—one that told him to pull back and another that urged him to move closer—Renner stayed still and simply allowed the kiss to happen. Quintus’s lips were soft, but his days-old beard was sharp. The contrast of sensations seemed to add to the conflict. When Quintus parted his lips, Renner followed suit, losing all his restraint when their tongues touched. Hunger and need pushed him closer, urging Quintus to relax into the bed. He didn’t let up, though. Quintus slipped his free hand to the back of Renner’s neck, holding him close as he deepened the kiss.

Renner’s cock was pressed firmly into the edge of the mattress, upping his torment and making him moan softly at the back of his throat. Quintus’s hand tightened on his and over the back of his neck. When Renner heard the soft sound of feet on the carpet outside in the hall, he reluctantly pulled away and left the room, but he was never going to forget the look on Quintus’s face.

In the hall, he’d run past the butler, down the stairs, and out of the big house. He crossed the yard as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself. Once inside the privacy of his home where he always kept the shades drawn, he’d stripped out of his work clothing and put on his leather gear. Just the night before he’d worn it while sitting in the living room, imagining his fantasy master teasing him, so everything was tucked under the couch. As soon as he was dressed, he dropped to his knees.

Picturing Quintus’s face as he’d left his bedroom caused Renner to groan and grip his cock hard. In that moment, Quintus had looked hungry for so much more than just a kiss. Renner knew that if he lowered his mouth and sucked at Quintus’s softening prick he would make him hard in moments. Moreover, Quintus wouldn’t stop him. Knowing that it was wrong was what made it all the more alluring. What had stopped Renner was the fact that Quintus was supposed to be McBride’s mate.

McBride had always been a kind and considerate master. It seemed beyond despicable for Renner to repay him by engaging in illegal activities with his future mate. He didn’t blame Quintus at all. Given what had happened to him in the last two days and the fact he’d never fed from a slammer—Quintus was simply overwhelmed. Renner should know better.

Once Renner was dressed back in his work clothing, he left his house and scanned the yard for McBride. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, or if he might just burst into flames from embarrassment, yet he felt compelled to do something.

“I should have knocked.”

Renner almost jumped out of his skin when the voice came from right next to him. Swiveling his head to the side, he discovered McBride was standing there, his back against the house.

“I should have…controlled myself.” Renner winced his eyes closed. It was possibly the stupidest thing he’d ever said.

“It’s your home. You’re allowed to do whatever you want within its walls.” McBride wasn’t looking at Renner. Instead, he was focused on the shed. “In the future, I’ll be sure to knock.”

“What did you need?” Renner wanted to move away from what he’d been doing or what McBride had seen. He obviously knew what Renner had been up to in the middle of his living room. Even a partially sighted man would have figured that out.

“I wanted to ask you how Quintus was doing.”

Guilt slammed into Renner, making him shiver despite the heat of the day. He felt cold and ashamed. He had taken advantage of Quintus and then compounded his error by running home and stroking off while thinking of going much further with the handsome gentryman.

“Renner?” McBride finally turned his attention to him. “Please don’t worry about…that.” He nodded toward Renner’s house. “Every man does that.”

Renner had a sudden image of McBride and Quintus masturbating while they watched one another.

“I just happened to walk in on you. Don’t be ashamed when the wrong is mine.”

“He’s fine,” Renner blurted and then cringed at how loud his voice was. The only saving grace to the whole mess was that McBride would assume his shame was over getting caught touching himself and not over what he’d been doing with Quintus. “He should be up in a day or two. I think he was more shaken from fear than from pain.” When Renner thought that made Quintus sound weak, he added, “The injury obviously hurts, but it’s not life threatening. He’s not a pansy. Or weak. He’s very strong, and brave, and—” Renner shut himself up before he made a total fool of himself.

“Good.” McBride stood away from the house. “If he needs anything, let me know.”

“Should I—” Renner cut himself off from asking what he’d been about to ask. It wasn’t any of his concern. He was afraid if he mentioned it, he would give himself away.

“Ask.”

Trapped, Renner lowered his head. “If he wants to feed, is it okay if I do that?”

“Of course.” McBride tilted his head like he wasn’t sure why Renner was asking. “Did something happen?”

“What?” Up came Renner’s head.

“You seem upset.”

“I’m just…I felt funny.” Renner wanted to stuff his hand in his mouth to shut himself up, but he’d probably bite the thing off and keep going anyway.

“Funny?” McBride moved closer. “Because he marked the other side of your neck?”

Thankful for being handed a way out, Renner nodded. The truth was he’d felt funny about the surge of totally inappropriate feelings he’d had for Quintus.

“That’s okay. If he ends up as my mate, he should have his own scar on my slammers. Well, our slammers.” McBride smiled as he said
our
, but the joy never quite touched his eyes. “We’ll share everything.”

Renner nodded enthusiastically.

“Are you sure that’s all?” McBride frowned as he considered Renner.

“I just—I don’t want to hurt him. Or anyone. I’ve only read one book on medical care, so I’m no expert.” Actually, that wasn’t too far from the truth. Renner didn’t want to injure anyone by what he did either with his care or his uncontrollable urges.

“You’re the closest thing we have to an expert.” McBride wrapped his arm around Renner’s shoulders, giving him a sideways hug. “I know you’ll do your best.”

“I will.” Renner vowed that he would do his best to heal Quintus and keep his hands off him no matter how many times he had to run home and stroke himself. But next time the urge hit, he’d go to his bedroom and prop the chair up against the door. No matter what, he wasn’t going to get caught doing that again or doing anything inappropriate with McBride’s future mate.

Quintus tried to sleep, but he couldn’t when the taste of Renner’s blood lingered on his tongue. Bagged blood had kept him healthy and satisfied all his life, but now that he’d tasted the gushing richness from a man’s neck, he knew he could never go back. What astonished him was that he’d read the very act of drinking aroused both drinker and drinkee, but he hadn’t grasped why. How could something as basic as sustenance give such profound pleasure? Now that he’d braved doing the act himself, he knew why.

Drinking blood directly from a man’s neck was inherently intimate. He had to get close enough to Renner to smell his body and feel his heat. Without even being able to see his cock, Quintus knew he was aroused, too, because Renner rocked his hips against the edge of the mattress. There was no mistaking the lust of that particular motion. Besides, when he stood up, his arousal was apparent.

“It was also what made him run away.” Quintus shook his head and buried his face under the covers. He’d been shocked when Renner’s hand started traveling up his thigh, but he hadn’t really wanted him to stop. Not when the idea of those work-worn hands around the soft skin of his cock would be wickedly sensual in terms of contrasts.

And to think that Quintus had always avoided drinking directly from another man because he thought the very act was unhygienic. Bagged blood seemed more refined and safe somehow. But what it lacked was the raw physicality of actual contact. Man to man and body to body engaged all of his senses where drinking from a bag sustained him but offered no pleasure.

Quintus sat bolt upright in his bed. What if he’d just exposed himself to the blood madness? Slowly, he eased himself back until his head hit the pillow. All his meticulous lab work rolled around in his mental landscape as he tried to determine if there might be a way to find out. Initially, he had thought the disease was a virus, but then he didn’t, yet now he wasn’t so sure what to think. At one point he came to the conclusion it was some odd genetic quirk that was being suddenly expressed. That notion held longer than any of the others. The only problem was he couldn’t prove it. Not with the equipment or tests he had access to. Initially, he worried that all the gentrymen would eventually fall victim to the sickness if it was due to a genetic anomaly, but he figured if they were going to show signs, they would have by now. Still, he hadn’t disabused McBride of the notion he could quarantine against the illness. He wasn’t certain how to tell him his theory or even if he should.

When Quintus had floated that particular idea to his fellow crimetechs, they’d laughed openly at him then turned back to their computers. But the notion simply wouldn’t go away no matter how diligently he tried to make what was happening fit in terms of being a virus. He found it too odd that suddenly, in multiple areas, a disease expressed the same symptoms. To his scientific brain, it didn’t seem like coincidence so much as it was…time.

Not that the Genetics Board had planned for the explosion of illness, just that with the way they cloned specific lines and hadn’t bothered to enrich the gentrymen gene pool, they had been asking for trouble. Quintus probably never would have hit on the idea without finding very old books about preplague genetics. On the verge of the world-destroying plague, couples were using advanced techniques to engineer specific traits in their children such as blue eyes or musical ability. But then the science went beyond that, allowing people to alter their own genetic structure. Governments tried to put restrictions, but it was the era of megacorporations that cared more about money than anything else. Men and women augmented themselves with animal genes, and soon there were humans with fur, scales, and hides as tough as a rhino’s. They gave themselves metallic sheens, the ability to withstand extremes of temperature, or even the ability to extend their canines and take sustenance from blood.

From that genetic mess, the plague had arisen.

Quintus hadn’t been able to find the details on how the Genetics Board came about, but he imagined the remnants of one of the old corporations had survived and toiled to put things back the way they were before they’d started mucking about. Sadly, they weren’t able to bring everything back. In his nightmares, Quintus imagined them trying to untangle the strings of double helixes to put the DNA back into tidy little coils. But they never were able to bring back women, horses, or dogs. Most of the domesticated animals—those used for food—were simpler to restore because there was an abundance of untainted stock, but the exotic breeds weren’t recreated, or perhaps they decided they didn’t need them.

If not for the science of mating any couple in a bottle, the entire human species would have been wiped out. Since they went the other direction and feared any change to the genetic structure, they preferred clones for the highest class. Slammers, thralls, and grinders had variations, but they were all formed from the same genetic pool. They just mixed and matched unlike the gentrymen, who were exact clones.

Quintus sighed and wondered what would become of all of them now. If he was right, if this was some kind of genetic crisis, then it didn’t matter what planet mankind lived on. He imagined all the planets suffering similar illnesses. Society would collapse. The survivors would either cling to the old ways or make sweeping changes, but it really didn’t matter. Without anyone around to decant more, they were the last of their kind.

Maybe someday, millions of years from now, life would emerge from the genetic mess left behind. He fell asleep wondering what it would be like.

Quintus awoke to sharp hunger and burning pain. For a moment, he thought the wound he’d suffered had infected, but he realized the pain was much higher. Struggling to extricate himself from the blankets, he realized his pubic hair was caught in his underwear. Adjusting himself, he sat up and dangled his legs over the side of the bed. He was going to rise and turn on the light, but a soft rapping made him stay where he was.

“Come in.”

To his surprise, Renner entered. After what happened, Quintus didn’t think he’d see him again.

“McBride told me to check on you.”

Ah
. It was exactly what he thought. Renner wasn’t here of his own free will but at the behest of his master. Still, he was here, and after McBride had caught them in what Quintus thought was a compromising position. Clearly, it wasn’t, since McBride had sent Renner back in. Still, Quintus was relieved that he hadn’t done anything wrong. The fact that McBride made no issue about Quintus drinking from his slammer or pleasuring himself while he did so emboldened Quintus to engage Renner again. He wanted to taste him a second time and see if he had the same reaction.

“I’m thirsty.”

Renner swallowed hard, and Quintus was fairly certain he was about to back out of the room, but he decided the time had come to assert his authority.