Healing Dance Page 3

  As he walked into the club proper, he noticed the bouncer, Val, stood holding up one wall, as per usual. His legs were crossed and his hands were jammed into his front pockets. The casual pose didn’t fool Ric, nor should it have done so for anyone. The guy was primed to launch an attack in a millisecond. His assessing gaze swung to Ric. Val nodded once, the man’s version of an enthusiastic human bear hug and back thump, before continuing to scan the first floor.

  Ric waved in greeting, knowing it went unseen, and headed straight toward Trey Duncan’s table. The two of them had formed a tentative bond, both being humans accepted into the aliens’ cohort. Plus, they shared another trait that was rare in this environment—poverty. Well, strictly speaking, they were middle class, but in a place filled with gazzilionaire members, Ric felt poor. His membership was a gift, and one that he would have used sparingly but for the draw of seeing Dafydd. He was out of place in this luxurious environment where men paid God-knew-what for the privilege of sexy fun twenty-four-seven.

  He tried not to fuss with his clothing as he weaved his way around better-dressed men. His Tommy Hilfiger outfit, from his button-down shirt to his neat slacks, seemed hopelessly staid compared to the flashier brands in the room. He felt like his grandfather. Plus, his wardrobe came from the outlet store in Kittery, Maine, so hardly this year’s fashion. Still, he blended in better than the cop, who sat at his reserved table dressed in his Levi jeans and some snarky T-shirt. Then again, what did Duncan care what he looked like? He had the love of his life perched on his lap, nuzzling his neck, while he sucked down a bottle of beer. Lucky bastard.

  First Duncan then Demi shifted to focus their attention on him when he arrived at the table. “Hi, Dr. Ric.” Demi treated him to a pretty smile that held no invitation whatsoever. The hybrid had finally snared his man, and he was the very picture of bliss.

  “Hey, Paz,” the cop added before draining his bottle and standing. He set Demi on his feet. “Sorry. No time to get comfy. I promised Alex we’d chat as soon as you arrived.”

  “No problem.” Ric swiveled his head to look for Val. The guy hadn’t moved. “It’s not going to be an all-hands one?”

  Duncan shook his head. “Nope. There’s no obvious connection to what they’re concerned with, so this is more of a social call than anything else. If it turns out to be more relevant, then…” He shrugged.

  Yes, this was their life now, always pondering whether something bad happening around them was purely the same human nonsense that people had been perpetrating on themselves since the dawn of time or something related to aliens being marooned on Earth a thousand years ago. The purported demise of Dracul—the mutinous and murderous traitor from Alex’s crew—hadn’t eliminated the threat, either. At least one of the bastard’s sons was out there still, as well as a few minions. Trouble could pop up at any moment. They’d all been reminded of that only a couple of months ago.

  Demi pressed a kiss to Duncan’s cheek. “This sounds really boring, so I’m going to go hang with Mackie and the boys if that’s okay with you?”

  Duncan returned the gesture and said, “It’s fine, and remember, you don’t have to get my permission to do anything.”

  “I like getting it,” Demi replied with his trademark smirk and a flashing of the simple ring on his finger. “Remember?” he added in a teasing tone.

  Duncan rolled his eyes. “Right. Off you go, then.” He helped Demi on his way with a smack on the ass that made the boy’s eyelids droop.

  Ric couldn’t hide his grin. “Seems as if you two are settled into domestic life.”

  “Faster than I can keep up with sometimes. Come on. Alex said to come to his penthouse.”

  Ric followed the cop through the crowded room and over to the elevators. “Have you set a date yet?”

  “No.” Duncan’s tone was firm. “That’s not happening for a few years. I don’t care how long he’s been alive or what his fake birth certificate says, Demi is way too young to get married. I haven’t even introduced him to my family yet. My mother is going to have a heart-attack as it is over his baby-face. She’s going to think I’m robbing the cradle, which I kind of am.”

  Ric figured the cop was overestimating his own ability to hold out and seriously underestimating how determined Demi was going to be to move matters along.

  Duncan pushed the call button for the elevator. “Plus, there’s college then medical school. Even if he doesn’t elect to go the full route, it’s going to take years.”

  The doors slid open and they stepped inside. Duncan scratched the back of his head after pushing for the fifth floor. “And the really weird thing is that the boy who used to give his fathers fits by being rebellious has become totally submissive to me. Docile. It’s freaking me the fuck out, to be frank.”

  Ric leaned against the elevator wall. “Perhaps he thinks that if he’s a good boy, you’ll change your mind about waiting.” Based on what he knew of Demi, he wouldn’t put such a strategy past him.

  “Maybe.” Duncan jammed his hands into his front pockets. “If it’s an act, it’s a good one. A really good one,” he added under his breath and in a way that made Ric realize part of Demi’s obedience included fun things of a sexual nature.

  Duncan heaved out a breath. “Anyway, he’s going to be disappointed if that’s his game.” The man’s tone conveyed some uncertainty, however.

  They exited on Alex’s private floor and both waved at the security camera. By the time they’d made the short trip down the hall to the suite, they found Alex straightening his clothing while sitting on the couch. His boy, Quinn, sat between the man’s outstretched legs with his head resting on one of Alex’s thick thighs. The boy didn’t try to hide the fact that he’d just given a blow job. Both greeted them with lazy smiles. Plus, one of Quinn’s arms lay across that same thigh. Alex flicked his tongue around a corner of his lips. It was that obvious proof of bloodsucking that gave Ric discomfort, not the sex. Like many, if not most humans, he’d grown up with scary stories of vampires. It was the hardest thing about his new friends to get used to.

  He wasn’t sure he ever would.

  “Come in, gentlemen, and make yourselves comfortable,” Alex called out and gave a wave of his hand. “May I offer you refreshments?”

  “No, thanks.” Both Ric and Duncan spoke the same words at the same time, and went to sit on two of Alex’s big, comfy chairs.

  The luxury these aliens lived in after centuries of amassing wealth staggered Ric. That was also something he didn’t think he’d ever become comfortable with. If there came a time in which the whole world learned of the aliens’ existence, and if Alex and his crew tended toward exhibitionism, their lives would make for spectacular reality TV.

  Alex carded his hand through Quinn’s hair. “What news do you bring from the front lines, gentlemen?”

  Duncan gestured toward Ric. “You first, Doc.”

  Ric settled into the cloud-like softness behind his back and wondered briefly if he might fall asleep from the amazing pleasure of the chair. “Well, pathologically speaking, I don’t have much to report. I did an autopsy this morning on a young and very stupid man who died when his 3-D printed gun exploded on him. A shard of plastic cut an artery, causing him to bleed out. If he’d lived, it would have been with one less hand and most of the arm.”

  He shrugged. “That’s it, but I contacted Duncan because I figured it fell into the category of the unusual and therefore possibly problematic, from your point of view.”

  Alex nodded. “Yes, thank you. I agree with your assessment. Anything out of the norm is always worth an extra look.” He turned to the cop. “I assume this has been picked up by the feds.”

  “Yeah. This whole printing-guns-out-of-plastic phenom has everyone shitting their pants. Regardless of what the law says, anyone who looks hard enough is going to find out how to do this. And unlike, say, making a nuclear bomb, once you have the plans, the material is easy to come by.”

  Like Ric, Duncan settled more into h
is chair. “What’s odd about this, though, is who had the weapon and what he was doing with it. I mean, why would some low-level offender, with a rap sheet that could paper your walls for drugs and gang-banging, use this thing to take down a rival?” The cop shook his head at his own rhetorical questions. “It doesn’t add up. Old-fashioned metal guns are cheap and easy to get. Why bother with this new tech?”

  Ric chimed in before Alex could respond. “That’s what I was wondering. It seems a strange choice for the kind of man I cut open. Given his clothing and overall condition, he wasn’t someone living well.” A thought struck him. “Unless of course it was a free sample.”

  Both Alex and Duncan turned sharp gazes on him.

  “Say what?” the cop asked.

  Ric shrugged. “I don’t know. I was just thinking of how pharmaceutical companies give free drug samples to doctors to try out on their patients. If it proves effective, eventually the patients start paying for it.” He pulled at one ear. “It’s controversial but it works, and many really effective drugs end up being used like that and helping people.”

  Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like what drug pushers do out on the street.”

  “Yes, well…I’m a pathologist now, so it’s not going to be part of my practice. It’s only that a 3-D printed gun in the hands of this work-a-day criminal, if you will, strikes me as being similar.”

  “That’s an excellent point, Doctor,” Alex said. “An intriguing idea, don’t you think, Sergeant?”

  “It has some legs.” Duncan laced his fingers behind his head. “The question remains, though, why this particular guy?”

  “Anthony Marcello,” Ric supplied, because no matter what the guy had done, he’d been a person with a name and a family, and his life had ended far too soon and much too brutally. It was important for him to remember that the bodies he cut open had once been living, breathing human beings.

  Duncan hummed. “Tony Two Claws, as he was known on the streets, according to his record I accessed this afternoon.”

  “What an utterly ridiculous nickname,” Alex scoffed. “Honestly, you humans…”

  “It’s because he had a connection to Maine.” Dropping his hands, Duncan sat forward. “You know, lobsters?” He snapped his thumbs and forefingers together.

  “Ah, yes. They are delicious.” Alex licked his lips with almost the same delight as he had when they first came in. “Emil must have some in the kitchen.”

  Quinn snorted. “It’s the butter you love. Honestly,” he added to the room at large, “lobsters are just conduits for the butter.”

  “You insult my palate, dear boy.” Alex patted his lover on the head. “Can you do some further digging on the matter, sergeant, without raising any suspicion?”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll see what I can find out. Hopefully, it’s just typical human shit, not that such an answer isn’t sufficiently scary.”

  “Indeed,” Alex agreed. “In the meantime, why don’t you both enjoy the club for the evening—the entire weekend, of course, if you’re not on duty.” He focused his gaze on Ric, and that intensity was a little hard to take. “I hope you know that you are truly welcome to use the club as much as you’d like.”

  Ric resisted the urge to squirm. “Yes, sir, I do.” Which was not quite accurate, but he figured Alex shared the human need to hear what he wanted and not necessarily the unvarnished truth.

  Alex’s gaze hardened for a moment. “Hmm. I imagine you’re hungry. I know I am. Let’s go see what Emil has brewing in his kitchen.”

  It was on the tip of Ric’s tongue to say no, that he’d eaten already, then he thought better of it. There was someone who frequently took his meals there, someone he was desperate to see, even if he tried to deny it to himself. Does Alex know that? Is that what’s behind the invitation?

  He couldn’t tell by the man’s expression, but Quinn was more of an open book. As Alex helped him to his feet, the boy popped his eyes at him and gave a quick shake of his head. Alex merely distracted him with a kiss while gently nudging him forward.

  “Duncan?”

  “Yeah, I’ll come with. Except I’m going to scare up Demi instead of going to the kitchen.”

  Ric let the three others pass before bringing up the rear. He tried not to get excited at the possibility of seeing Dafydd, but his heart and dick had other ideas. One started beating rapidly as the other stiffened as much as his tight pants allowed. Thank God my shirt is untucked. Still, he crossed his wrists in front of him as he followed his friends to the elevator.

  Alex snapped his fingers. “Oh, I almost forgot to mention that Malcolm and Brenin are on their way over for a visit.”

  Stepping into the elevator, Ric stood to one side to let Alex push the button for the lower level. “Is anything wrong?” He wondered as he asked whether seeing the boy he’d suffered with and helped escape Dracul’s terror would upset Dafydd or be just the thing to perk him up.

  “Not to my knowledge. I gather they need a break from the rehabilitation of the poor souls we rescued from Dracul’s castle. At least, I assume Brenin does.”

  “It did seem like a lot for him to take on when he was still recovering from his own ordeal.”

  “When’s their flight due in?” Duncan asked.

  Alex chuckled. “You’d think they’d fly, wouldn’t you? But no, Malcolm is bringing them in his yacht—the good one, not that trawler we used for our journey to Wales. They’re due to arrive on Sunday. I imagine they’ve spent the last two weeks or so on a kind of honeymoon. They’ve certainly earned the rest.”

  Ric thought back on what the two men had done, the lion’s share of the work in the assault on Dracul’s castle. And all of that had been after Brenin had been brutalized for months at the evil creature’s hands. Yes, he could certainly agree that Brenin at least needed some time off.

  So long as his arrival didn’t set Dafydd’s recovery back, Ric was all for the visit.

  * * * *

  “No, Idris, the potatoes go into your mouth, not on your face.”

  Dafydd merely got one of his son’s typical impish grins in response to the mild rebuke. Then he reached out toward the plate with his chubby fingers and did the same thing all over again.

  Putting the spoon down, Dafydd sighed. “All right then, do as you like. You’re getting a bath before bed anyway.”

  He was counting the minutes before Idris’ last meal of the day, his sixth, was over and he could be washed and tucked into his crib. The baby ate more than a human, thanks to his rapid growth, so even though it was well past any normal child’s bedtime, they were still at it. Beyond the cozy kitchen, the sounds of the club in full swing were audible. They held no allure for him. Nothing really did, other than his special place on the roof. He longed to be there now.

  “Hey, Idris, giving your father trouble, are you?” Emil, the chef—the sight of whom didn’t cause as much fright in Dafydd as it once had—came sauntering over.

  The big man picked up the spoon and filled it with mashed potatoes. “Open up, kiddo. The airplane is coming in for a landing.” He made all kinds of whirling noises and moved his hand in funny circles before pressing the spoon against Idris’ lips.

  The baby loved the antics and dutifully ate the food as intended. He kicked his legs against the highchair, waved his arms and giggled. It took no time for Emil to empty the plate of mashed up bits of dinner. It seemed that everyone was better at taking care of Dafydd’s son than he was. He told himself it didn’t matter, that his feelings for Idris were a jumbled mix of horror, duty and love. What difference does it make if I never get the hang of raising this child?

  It does. Somehow, despite everything that I’ve gone through, from forced conception to near-deadly delivery, it does.

  “Thanks for that,” he said to the chef, forcing himself to look the man straight in the eye. It was hard, always hard, to go against Dracul’s vicious lessons.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s easy for me to swoop in at the last minute
after you’ve done all the heavy lifting.”

  It surprised him still how much everyone here seemed to care about his feelings. Before he could muster a suitable reply, footsteps told him someone was coming. Three people, actually. Over the centuries, survival had taught him to recognize the sounds the men around him made. Being force-fed Dracul’s blood had also given him some useful advantages, including enhanced senses. Those effects remained, even with the diet of blood having stopped.

  There were Alex and Quinn—naturally, as they were almost always together. The human boy’s ease with his man gave Dafydd some comfort, as well. Actions spoke louder than words. If there was anything to fear in Alex, surely the boy who warmed his bed would show it in his expression and movements. He shot them an acceptable nod of greeting before refocusing on who trailed behind them. It was this third person who caught his attention the most.

  Ric.

  He was always sure to call the man by his title of doctor, but inside his own mind, the first name popped up. He couldn’t help it, no more than he could prevent his heartbeat from stumbling at the sight of the man entering the room. A flash of heat infused his body before he suppressed it. This perverse reaction was ridiculous. Dr. Ricardo Paz was a man, for all that, and Dafydd wanted nothing to do with males of any species. He forced his expression to become neutral, as if seeing the doctor had no effect whatsoever.

  Nevertheless, Ric’s reaction held no reticence. His face lit up when he caught sight of Dafydd. “Hi there.” He called out the greeting from across the room. Although his gaze swept around to encompass everyone, it homed in on Dafydd.

  “Hello.” Politeness dictated he respond and maintain eye contact, even though he wanted to drop his gaze, grab Idris and bolt away from this strange temptation.

  “How are you doing?” Ric came directly toward him as Emil moved away.

  Alex asked the chef something about lobsters, which made the man laugh. The three of them—Alex, Emil and Quinn—headed into the walk-in refrigerator.