Final Dance: Part One (Alien Blood Wars Book 8) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Books by Samantha Cayto

  Title Page

  Legal Page

  Book Description

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Read more from Samantha Cayto

  More exciting books!

  About the Author

  Pride Publishing books by Samantha Cayto

  Single Books

  One Night in a Dungeon

  Man Candy

  Alien Slave Masters

  The Captain’s Pet

  The Rebellious Pet

  The Untamed Pet

  The Captive Pet

  The Inconvenient Pet

  The Undercover Pet

  Alien Blood Wars

  Blood Dance

  Dangerous Dance

  Slave Dance

  Star Dance

  Mating Dance

  Healing Dance

  Smoke Dance

  Anthologies

  His Rules: Safeword

  Right Here, Right Now: Never the Groom

  Alien Blood Wars

  FINAL DANCE:

  PART ONE

  SAMANTHA CAYTO

  Final Dance: Part One

  ISBN # 978-1-83943-033-6

  ©Copyright Samantha Cayto 2020

  Cover Art by Louisa Maggio ©Copyright May 2020

  Interior text design by Claire Siemaszkiewicz

  Pride Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2020 by Pride Publishing, United Kingdom.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the authors’ rights. Purchase only authorised copies.

  Pride Publishing is an imprint of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book”.

  Book eight in the

  Alien Blood Wars series

  What lurks in the dark isn’t always a monster. Sometimes it’s your deepest desire.

  Christos has been called by his captain to give aid in the final showdown with Dracul. Never comfortable living with humans and hiding his true nature, he misses the solitude of his mountain home. It’s boring waiting for Dracul to strike—that is, until he meets a sick, homeless boy with soulful eyes and a need to be helped.

  Having tried to live in the nine-to-five world with no skills, Mateo has hit the streets once again, turning tricks to stay warm and fed. While checking out a new soup kitchen, he collapses from his growing illness—right into the arms of a sexy alpha male who also reminds him of someone who brutalized him in the past.

  Christos doesn’t want the responsibility for the care of a human, no matter how alluring he is. And, with Dracul’s unknown plans taking everyone’s attention, there is no time for any distraction. But he can’t stay away, and the trust this vulnerable human shows him is humbling. It also chips away at his resolve to stay alone.

  The final battle is gearing up, however, and Christos and Mateo are at ground zero. No matter how Christos tries to keep his boy safe, the fate of the world rests in both their hands.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Nike: Nike Inc.

  McDonald’s: McDonald’s Corporation

  A Little Princess: Frances Hodgson Burnett

  Doogie Howser, M.D.: Twentieth Television, Disney-ABC Domestic Television

  Downton Abbey: Julian Fellowes, ITV Studios, Carnival Films, WGBH-TV

  Star Wars: LucasFilm, Disney Enterprises Inc.

  The Weather Channel: Entertainment Studios, The Weather Group LLC

  Bambi: Disney Enterprises Inc.

  Leave It To Beaver: NBCUniversal Television Distribution

  Sesame Street: Joan Ganz Cooney, Lloyd Morrisett

  Frozen: Walt Disney Enterprises Inc.

  Frozen II: Walt Disney Enterprises Inc.

  MBTA: Massachusetts Bay Subway Authority

  Sucker: Frank Dukes, Homer Steinweiss, Joe Jonas, Kevin Jonas, Louis Bell, Mustafa Ahmed, Nick Jonas, Ryan Tedder

  Coca-Cola: Coca-Cola Company

  The Last of the Mohicans: James Fenimore Cooper

  Mary Poppins: Buena Vista Distribution, Disney Enterprises Inc.

  Chapter One

  Mateo hunched against the cold, his backpack feeling as if it were filled with rocks. He’d been walking around too long without enough food, and the dull ache that had started in his chest since he’d caught a cold was beginning to make breathing difficult. Every step was harder than the last. He must look like an old man—and a feeble, homeless one at that. Of course, that last part was true. Since bolting from the ‘fresh start’ the vice cop had given him, there was nowhere he could reliably bed down, no chance to stay out of the chill from the approaching winter weather to shake off the remnants of his illness. And meals were not a regular thing these days. Hunger magnified every crappy feeling he had.

  He really needed to find that new place everyone was talking about. Word was they served plenty of hot food—and without the preaching part that even the nice Father Ted had laid on him as the price for help. He didn’t need saving, but he did need a trick. Eating was only one of his needs. Money in his pocket would give him the other things that made life almost bearable, including a little weed to smooth out his nerves. The shit was legal now, although… Okay, so he wasn’t quite over the age limit and the fucking vice cop had confiscated his fake ID. Still, he could pass for older, if only the licensed dispensaries weren’t more uptight about carding a guy than most bars were.

  The tickle in the back of his throat morphed into an undeniable cough. He nearly doubled over from the hacking and his chest hurt terribly. Something warm to drink would help that. Surely they’d have coffee—or maybe tea. That’s supposed to be good for lung problems, isn’t it? He just had to reach his destination. This part of town wasn’t his usual hang, so it was hard to judge how much farther he had to go. Squinting past the wind, he looked at the street sign to make sure he’d taken the correct turn. It was supposed to be about a block away now.

  He hitched his pack higher on his shoulder before picking up speed. His hope of reachin
g his destination soon overtook his lack of energy. The thin jacket he wore didn’t do much to keep out the cold. Someone had said this new place had clothes as well as food. He hoped he could cadge a new coat, maybe a scarf. With a little bit of help, he’d shake this coughing problem and be better situated to survive the coming months. Winter in Boston was a major bitch.

  Another turn had him catching sight of someone who nearly caused his heart to stop. He put on the brakes and struggled for breath. His sudden stress sent off another coughing fit, this time lasting longer and hurting a whole lot more. As he bent over, he kept his sight on the man down the street.

  It can’t be him! That fucker is gone. The cop said so…

  The man who’d caught his attention didn’t look his way. He merely leaned against the brick wall of a building, putting his big, booted foot flush against it while digging something out of his pocket. A few seconds later, he was puffing on a smoke. His stance was relaxed as he stared across the street. With his hair pulled back in a ponytail, his face was easy to see. That profile was what allowed Mateo’s heart to start beating again as he fought to catch his breath.

  Not him. Not the Creature. There was a superficial similarity in the height and breadth of the man, as well as the jet-black hair and pale skin. But this wasn’t the asshole who’d fucked him over six ways to Sunday, forcing him to rent his body beyond endurance while keeping the profit. For a few awful months, he’d been a slave and living a life that had almost made him long for the abusive home he’d left years before. Almost. It had brought him as close to offing himself as anything ever had. And as scared as he’d been when the cop had pulled him in and made him snitch, it had been a relief, too.

  It was too bad he’d also learned that the minimum wage, four-oh-fucking-one-k lifestyle was also not his jam. It was practically a different kind of slavery as far as he was concerned—or simply a way to stay alive without giving someone a chance to live a meaningful life. Sucking random dick might not be the best job in the world, but it was better, as far as he was concerned, than what he’d left. At least now he was working for himself, deciding who he did, when and how and keeping all of the money. And it paid better when he broke it down by hours versus effort. With the right technique, he could make a guy come in minutes. It was easy money. Mateo had become very skilled in certain areas. He considered it a vocation. Plus, when he was willing to also let a guy have at his ass, it could mean a nice place to sleep for the night. He liked sex with dudes, too. No ‘gay for pay’ in his case. He loved dick—the bigger the better.

  This guy right here would almost certainly fit that category if he didn’t bring back so many shitty memories. The similarities were too awful to ignore, even though this dude was totally hot. As he took a long drag off the ciggy, the man’s profile exposed plenty to stare at. Mateo could admire the full lips and strong jaw. The nose couldn’t have been any straighter and the cheekbones could cut glass. And yet, there was nothing effeminate about him. Every inch of him screamed alpha male, which was both scary and appealing. If not for his experience with the Creature, Mateo would have been on the guy at full-flirt speed. As it was, he had to swallow any trepidation, along with the phlegm clogging his throat, and take advantage of the opportunity to do a quick trick before finding the new soup kitchen.

  Squaring his shoulders, he forced his feet to get moving and put a little swing into his hips. He was scrawny these days, but some guys were into that because it made him look younger than he was. Besides, his mouth worked fine so long as he could suppress his urge to cough, and that was all he was going to offer. A quick glance to his left told him there was a convenient alley to do business in. There wasn’t much of anyone around anyway—a function of the location and the weather. He would pull out all the stops get the guy off quickly, too, so he wasn’t going to have to spend much time on his knees on the cold ground.

  He hadn’t taken more than a few steps before the man swiveled his head in his direction. Mateo could have sworn his old Nikes made no sound while he walked down the cracked sidewalk, yet the man’s reaction made him think he’d been beating a drum or something. Although there was too much distance between them to be sure, Mateo’s heart skipped another beat with the certainty that the eyes boring into him were that same violet color as the Creature’s. His steps faltered, even as he came within a few feet of the guy. And yup, he’d been right. That much was clear when the man’s gaze didn’t waver.

  It's not him. It’s not him. It’s not him.

  Mateo kept up the litany of reassurance, which was reinforced with his mark’s full face now visible. The guy was gorgeous, although his expression was impossible to read. There was nothing particularly friendly in it. That was only because he hadn’t yet heard the pitch. Any man could be seduced with the right effort. Mateo forced himself to smile and cocked a hip while he gave the man a slow once-over.

  “Hi, Daddy… This is your lucky day.” The words stuck in his throat just a tiny bit.

  He cleared his throat with a quick cough as softly as he could before continuing, because, Jesus, this guy wasn’t budging an inch—no response or answering smile, not even a leer. The man simply stood there, staring and puffing on his cigarette.

  Mateo poured on the charm, his empty stomach and prickly chest urging him to make the sale and get going. “For today only, you can get the best blowy you’ve ever had for the low, low price of only fifty bucks.” He fluttered his lashes, knowing that they were one of his best features—long and thick. Given that the guy who usually did his hair in exchange for this very service was currently in jail, he was otherwise looking like an alley cat. The green dye job had grown out and his hair hung in messy waves. But he needed to play to whatever strengths he had.

  The man pushed off from the wall and turned to face him. The hard look on his beautiful face didn’t change. He snuffed out his butt on the sole of one big boot before putting the stub into the front pocket of his jeans. Dressed in only a T-shirt covered by a chamois shirt, he looked remarkably unfazed by the cold.

  Mateo twisted the strap of his backpack, trying to keep what he hoped was a coquettish smile on his face. He opened his mouth to pitch his offer again. The guy overrode him.

  “Are you hungry?” The deep voice practically rumbled in Mateo’s congested chest. Again, he flashed on the Creature, except this guy’s accent was different. Harder. More clipped and without the almost sing-song quality he’d learned to loathe while spending only a few hours in hell.

  He nipped at his lower lip before answering. “Enough to eat that big dick of yours.” He could see the outline of the thing through the fly of the worn jeans that were slung low on narrow hips. “I’m sure your cum will more than satisfy me.”

  The man’s eyes flashed before he said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Follow me.”

  Without waiting for a response, the guy walked away, although not down the alley. Instead, he returned to the wide door he’d obviously come out of and, after opening it, held it for him in a silent invitation. He clearly expected Mateo to obey, and sure, whatever… At least it would get him out of the cold—although going inside was always riskier than being out, where escaping a bad situation was easier. A sudden gust of biting wind that threatened to send him into another coughing fit chased away his fears.

  He approached cautiously, just in case something skeevy was waiting for him. A sign above the door caught his eye. Glancing up, he saw that—Hey, what do you know?—etched in silver letters against a black background was the name of the hang he’d been looking for. Our Safe Place. The realization helped him relax. If this guy was part of the new soup kitchen and meeting place for street rats, then he was probably at least not inclined to wring his neck. That didn’t mean the blow job was off the menu, though. He’d been on his own long enough to understand that everyone had a price and no one gave anything away for free. There was always an agenda. Even Father Ted had wanted to save his soul in exchange for food. He’d only been kinder about the required quid pr
o quo.

  So yeah, as he crossed the threshold, he knew he’d be on his knees eventually. At the moment, however, he could only stop and take in the warm, cheery surroundings. The big room was colorful and cozy, with throw rugs, beanbag chairs, tables and bookcases. At one end there was a large flat-screen TV where a couple of boys were playing a video game while others sat around and watched. There was a lot going on all over the place, but the smell of food caught his attention the most. His stomach growled.

  “This way.”

  The sound of the man’s voice so close behind startled him. He hadn’t noticed that he’d come in on his heels and shut the door. The guy didn’t seem to appreciate or care that he’d caught him off guard. He merely walked past him, heading toward an open doorway to the right of the screen area. Mateo hurried to keep up. Meal or no, he didn’t want to lose track of the one person who was going to help with his current cash-flow problem.

  The next room was a dining hall with a few dozen tables and lined with wooden chairs. Some kids were sitting scattered around, chatting, eating, drinking. At the far end, where his super sexy and jacked guide was walking, was an open serving area. Behind the counter was the kitchen and someone familiar stood there fussing with the hot trays that were lined up.

  “Damien?” he called out before he could think better of it.

  The guy lifted his face to look in his direction and, a second later, his face split into a smile. “Hey, Mateo.”

  Completely relaxed now that he’d spotted a kind of friend, he didn’t hesitate to hurry over. “Dude, I should have expected you’d be here.” He offered his fist for a bump. “A kid told me this was kind of a tribute to Father Ted, and you are a cook, right? I should have guessed you were involved.”

  Damien knocked knuckles over a warming tray that was filled with mashed potatoes. “Yeah, seriously, this was something I had to do. Losing Father Ted was a blow to lots of people and I’d like to think he’d appreciate this place. It’s good to see you, man.” His expression got somber. “I’d heard you were off the streets.”