Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy] Read online

  Marc ignored the pleading in his eyes as he approached Blake, one mug in each hand, and set one on the table in front of Blake. He was rather proud of himself for not showing any reaction, and even prouder for not spilling any blood.

  "Drink,” he said, his voice wavering a little, and demonstrated by bringing the mug to his lips. By the time he had finished emptying it, Blake still hadn't touched his own mug. His eyes were set on Marc, unblinking, the pupils so dilated that they left only a thin rim of brown.

  "Come on,” Marc sighed, setting his mug down on the table and reaching for Blake's. “You haven't had any blood since..."

  Before he could grab the second mug, Blake's fingers curled around his hand, the touch tentative and fleeting. Marc tried to pull free, but surprisingly enough, Blake held on, his hesitation disappearing as he pulled Marc's hand toward his face. Marc was shocked when Blake led his fingers to rest against his lips. He held very still as Blake kissed his fingers, then his palm, before pulling Marc's hand closer so that it cupped his cheek.

  The gesture caused Marc's throat to tighten painfully. Before all this had started, he had sometimes caught sight of Blake touching Kate like this, with a gentleness that betrayed just how much he loved her. He and Blake had never had much use for these kinds of gestures, though, or the tender words that always seemed to accompany them. At that moment, however, words seemed necessary. There were things that Marc couldn't, wouldn't say, but he could still try to comfort Blake.

  "It's OK,” he murmured, his thumb idly stroking Blake's cheek. “Everything will be OK, Childe."

  He wasn't too sure how he ended up kneeling on the floor between Blake's parted legs. Both his hands now framed Blake's face, fingers threaded in his hair as Marc drew him down. The time for soft gestures and words had passed, and it was with his full force that Marc pressed his mouth to Blake's and coaxed his lips open. He pushed his tongue in without finesse and drew it back as Blake's tongue tentatively touched it, repeating the motions, using his tongue to fuck Blake's mouth the same way he craved to fuck his body. He couldn't, though, or so he tried to remember even as he willingly forgot everything else. Not until Blake was free of the invisible bonds that still held him, not until he could say, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted it, wanted Marc, truly and without reserve.

  With the confidence that came from familiarity, one of his hands slid down Blake's torso and over his cock, wrapping around the base just tight enough to make Blake gasp against Marc's mouth. There was no teasing, no taking it slow; it was difficult enough for Marc not to join in and receive his own pleasure from the act. Making it last too long would have broken his resolve to do this for Blake, and only Blake.

  Ignorant of this, Blake started reaching down for the fastenings of Marc's pants, but Marc broke off the kiss and stopped him.

  "None of that, now,” he said in a quiet rumble.

  Blake complied immediately, his hands resting on his thighs. His breathing was already faster, his heart reaching the now-familiar rhythm that told Marc exactly how close he was to pleasure. Marc's tempo only accelerated as he leaned forward to place small, gentle bites over Blake's chest. Blood pulsed just below the slightly salted skin, so close and tantalizing that it was driving him half mad with want. It was all Marc could do to stop himself from plunging into Blake, fangs, cock, or both.

  It was over with the sudden snap of Blake's hips, his back arching away from the chair as he let out a noise, half gasp, half moan, that made Marc's cock throb even more painfully within the confines of his pants.

  As he watched Blake slowly regain control of his breathing, Marc mindlessly brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean. It wasn't the same as tasting Blake's blood, but it would have to do.

  The action seemed to captivate Blake, and his eyes had such hunger in them that Marc offered him one finger tipped in pearly-white. Blake blinked and leaned forward very slowly. He flicked his tongue out at Marc's finger, cleaning it with tiny licks that caused Marc to shiver. He bit down on the inside of his cheek to hold back the moan that wanted to escape his lips. After a few seconds, it was just too much to endure, and Marc pulled his hand away.

  "All right,” he said after clearing his throat. “Kate and Simon will be here soon. I know you always liked showing off, but let's clean you up. OK?"

  Without waiting for an answer he knew wouldn't come, he picked up the towel he had used to clean the blood, and this time used it to wipe away Blake's semen. Then he tugged Blake's clothes up his legs again, coaxing Blake up to slide them over his hips.

  "Good,” he murmured as he stood. “Very good. Now drink your blood."

  To Marc's surprise, Blake did as he was told, draining the entire mug rather than stopping halfway through as he usually did. Praising him again, Marc led him back to the living room, a hand barely resting at the small of his back. Blake easily climbed on the sofa, his hands immediately seeking the sword he had left there. Marc winced, and his fingers twitched toward the weapon. He didn't take it from Blake, though, balancing his fear that Blake might hurt himself again with the need not to break his trust. Pulling the armchair back in its usual place, he sat down, hands clenched on the armrests, and tried to will his cock down before Kate returned with Simon.

  His Master had licked Blake's come off his fingers.

  The sheer improbability of it was only one more proof that something had changed. Blake only wished he could have figured it out.

  At times, Blake's head felt clearer, and he thought he could understand what was happening and why it all seemed so different. Somehow, the drawing on his thigh felt like it was linked to all of it; it tingled sometimes, almost itched, like something just beneath his skin wanted to crawl out. At other moments, Blake could only wonder why his Master was acting so strangely. Also, why Kate was touching his Master as though they were friends or lovers, as though he had never hurt her to hurt Blake.

  Sometimes, it all felt like that old, faded, forgotten dream Blake had once had, that dream where Master had another name, and he touched Blake and Kate whenever he wanted to—and allowed Blake and Kate to touch him back however they pleased. A dream in which sometimes his Master kissed him for hours, touched Blake's cock to give him pleasure, and smiled at him when he came. A dream in which Blake did the same to him because he wanted to.

  Was he dreaming now?

  He had to be. Nowhere but in a dream would his Master lick Blake's come off his fingers.

  Blake didn't have nice dreams very often, and this one was so nice that Blake wanted to push it further. He wanted to taste come, too. He wanted to touch his dream-Master however he pleased. With tentative fingers first, then his lips, then his tongue and mouth. He wanted his dream-Master to let him do anything he wanted.

  But he hadn't been good enough yet. His Master didn't punish him for reaching for him, but he didn't let Blake touch him either. Maybe he would another time, if Blake continued to be good.

  Regardless, it truly was the nicest dream Blake had had in a very long time.

  Simon wasn't at the hotel when Kate returned, and she was cursing under her breath as she went back out and started looking for him through the town. She finally found him in the central square, seated on the edge of a fountain that had long ago run dry. A small semi-circle of children stood in front of him, and they clapped and laughed as he conjured colored sparks out of thin air for them. He stood abruptly when she approached, his grin transforming into a slightly guilty expression.

  "I was just—"

  Kate didn't let him finish. If he wanted to show off what he could do with magic to amuse a few children, she really didn't care, not as long as he was ready to come with her now.

  "Marc gave his OK,” she said quickly. “He wants you to do the spell now."

  His eyes widened, although Kate couldn't have said if it was in surprise or excitement. “I need—"

  "Your supplies?” She slipped the strap of his leather satchel off her shoulder and handed the bag to him. “
Got them. Anything else?"

  His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he clutched the bag to his chest. The children were looking at them curiously, and Kate grabbed his arm, pulling him forward.

  "No—nothing else, no,” he mumbled. “But I thought I'd have more time to prepare. Marc didn't look like he wanted me to do it yesterday."

  Kate stopped abruptly, her hand on Simon's arm forcing him to do the same. She gave him a concerned look. “Do you need more time to prepare?” she asked, trying to hide her worry. “Yesterday you said you knew what to do."

  "I said I think I know what to do.” He looked down at his feet and kicked a small rock. “Maybe I should—"

  "Oh, no,” Kate cut in, shaking her head. “No ‘maybe’ and no ‘should.’ You always say you can do anything with magic; now's the time to prove it."

  His eyes found hers again. They were filled with anguish. “What if I mess up?” he murmured. “What if I make things worse? I don't want to hurt Blake."

  "Just last night you were clamoring for Marc to let you do it!” Kate's exasperation was ringing fully through her words, and she tried to calm down. “What changed your mind?"

  "I didn't change my mind,” he said with a small shrug. “I'm just... scared."

  In the past, Simon's fear had often been an issue and stopped him from helping the squad. Kate had lost count of how many times she had needed to talk to Simon and encourage him to be braver, stronger. Not this time, though.

  "We're all scared,” she said gently. “You, me, Marc, and most of all Blake. But you're the only one who can help him, and I know you'll do everything you can."

  Simon frowned at her words. “Of course I will."

  She nodded. “Then let's go. They're waiting for us."

  All the way back to Marc's house, Simon muttered under his breath. At first, Kate tried to understand what he was saying, but she soon realized he was going through a list of spell ingredients, and she stopped listening. He was good at what he did—he was much better than good—but she had no talent for magic, and little interest in it.

  Her mind drifted back to everything that had happened earlier. All she had wanted was to talk to Marc, make him see how much she missed him and Blake, convince him, maybe, to let her live with them, or at least let her visit more often. She had never expected that so much would come to light, that she would get to hold Blake in her arms, that she would comfort him and Marc alike. She also had not expected, after the way he had reacted the previous night, that Marc would agree to let Simon try his magic on Blake's tattoo.

  She took a deep breath before knocking on the door just once. Marc opened immediately and ushered her and Simon inside with a tense smile.

  "How is he?” she whispered, glancing at the sofa. Blake was peeking from behind the cushions.

  "Calmer,” Marc replied after a beat. He didn't quite meet her eyes and looked at Simon instead. “Can you do this?” he asked. “And don't tell me that you think you can."

  Simon gulped. “I'll do my best."

  The words that came out of Marc's mouth were practically a growl. “That's not enough, Simon. Tell me—"

  "You want me to lie?” Simon cut in, a bead of sweat beading on his forehead. “I'm not sure it will work. If I was, I wouldn't have asked for your opinion, I'd have just done it. But I don't see why it wouldn't work. And I'll do my best. I can't tell you anything better than this."

  Kate rested a hand on Marc's arm and rubbed it gently. She could feel the tension draining out of him.

  "I know you'll do your best,” he muttered. “I'm just... worried."

  "I know. I'm worried, too. But we'll know right away if it works or not.” Simon hoisted his bag a little higher in front of him. “I need to mix a few things before I do the actual spell. Kitchen?"

  "Yes, go ahead. Do you need anything?"

  Simon started shaking his head, but seemed to change his mind. “I'll need to see the tattoo when I start so...” He winced and finished very quietly. “Have him undress?"

  Marc nodded shallowly, his face betraying nothing of what he thought. “All right. Can he stay on the sofa? He feels safe there."

  "Sure. That works.” Simon tilted his head toward the kitchen. “I'll just need a few minutes."

  It was only when Marc covered her hand on his arm that Kate realized she was still holding on to him.

  "You're all right?” he asked with a small frown.

  She tried to smile. “Just nervous. We might get our Blake back in just a little while. That'd be—"

  Marc placed two fingers across her lips. “We already have our Blake back,” he whispered. “He just doesn't remember we're his as much as he's ours."

  Smiling was difficult, but Kate managed to pull it off. Stepping closer to him, she gave him a brief hug. When she pulled back, she realized that Blake was still watching them, and wondered what he had understood of their exchange. Marc pressed a kiss to her temple before walking over to the sofa. Kate watched from a few feet away as he helped Blake out of his sweatpants, and fumbled for a moment as Blake tried to slide off his boxers as well.

  "No, you're keeping these on,” Marc said very fast.

  Something passed between him and Blake, a look that Kate wasn't too sure how to interpret. Seconds later, Marc had rolled up the edge of the boxers, exposing the tattoo while preserving Blake's modesty. Blake looked down at his thigh and traced the tattoo with his fingertip before seeking Marc's eyes again.

  "I hope you remember,” Marc murmured. “I hope you remember everything."

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  Chapter 24

  Blake opened his eyes and blinked several times, trying to focus his blurry vision. When the world finally cleared around him, he hissed when he saw his Master inches from him. Without a second thought, he struck, kicking and slamming his right foot in the middle of his Master's chest. The gesture proved startlingly painful as the discomfort in his thigh became outright pain; it was also strangely ineffective. The bastard barely let out a quiet gasp when he was pushed back. Louder was the exclamation next to him.

  "Blake!"

  The voice—known, cherished—drew Blake's eyes to Kate. She was standing next to their Master. The bastard was holding on to her hand to stop her from running away. He always liked to have her there whenever he invented some kind of new torture for Blake, as a reminder that, if Blake made too much of a nuisance of himself, she would be the one paying the price.

  Blake sat up on the sofa—sofa? When had they put a sofa in his cell?—pushing himself up with his hands. The left one met metal, and even after all this time he recognized the feel of Seneca as his fingers curled over the hilt. He drew the sword up as he scrambled to his feet, passing it to his right hand without thinking, tearing off the scabbard just as mindlessly. His Master pulled back, drawing Kate along, pushing her behind him. At the same moment, Blake noticed for the first time the man standing at the foot of the sofa, eyes full of surprise and fear. He looked vaguely familiar, but Blake didn't have time to wonder where he might have seen him before. Only one thing mattered: for the first time in more years than he could remember, Blake had a weapon. For the first time, he had a chance to fight for his freedom.

  His freedom, and Kate's.

  Adjusting his stance to his center of balance, he took a step forward and opened his mouth to tell his Master the games were over, and to let Kate go.

  No sound came out of his throat.

  Startled, he frowned and raised a hand to his neck. Taking advantage of Blake's distraction, his Master lashed out, kicking his foot high, hitting Blake's hand full on and causing him to drop the sword. It clattered on the wooden floor—wooden? The floor in his cell was stone, with sharp ridges that cut the soles of his feet, knees, and hands when he was made to crawl. Where was he? Once more, his Master used Blake's confusion against him. Finally letting go of Kate, he rushed to the sword and pushed it farther away, his bare foot hitting the hilt—bare foot? His Master always wore heavy boots ti
pped in metal, the better to kick Blake into submission.

  Questions just rolled over Blake's mind, threatening to overwhelm him. He pushed them back and focused on Kate, just steps away from him, finally free of their Master's clutches. Free, but for how long? He had to get her out of there. Blake rushed to her, his eyes already searching for an escape. He didn't know where he was; it didn't look like the fortress where he had been brought, so long ago. The French windows at Kate's back seemed familiar, though, and somehow Blake knew they led to freedom. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the doors. Her fingers closed over his, tight and warm, and for a second Blake let himself hope that this was the end of the nightmare.

  His hope crumbled to nothing when Kate pulled back, stopping him before he could open the doors. He turned to look at her, feeling confused and betrayed. Their Master was coming back for them. Couldn't she see that this was their chance?

  "You can't go out, you'll burn!"

  He frowned and shook his head. Why would he burn? The sun was harmless to him in this dimension. Didn't she know?

  Their Master's hand rested on her shoulder. Instead of pulling away from him, she leaned back into him, as though seeking his comfort. Blinking wildly, Blake pulled his hand free of hers. He'd taken too long. She had yielded. She was theirs now, too, like his Master. She was lost to him. He wanted to wail in anger and grief, but still no sound came out of his throat.

  "You need to calm down,” His Master said, voice as calm as the hand he slowly raised toward Blake. “Everything's going to be all right."

  Refusing to listen to yet more lies, Blake lunged to the side, startling the other man who scurried back. There was a passageway there, and maybe Blake would find a way out.

  He rushed into the room, and was quickly disappointed to realize it was a kitchen, with no exit but boarded-up windows and the doorless entry he had just crossed. He could hear his Master closing in, Kate right alongside him. The anger boiled inside of Blake, bubbling over. He picked up one of the wooden chairs and threw it as hard as he could against the wall. It broke into pieces. Blake nearly stumbled in his haste to go and pick up the sharpest bit he could find. When he turned around, his hand clenched over the improvised stake hard enough to hurt, his Master was just feet away, both hands raised in front of him as though to calm Blake down.