Fergus scowled.
“Godsdamn
tritons.
They think they’re Tartarus on a tsunami when it comes to
fighting, but they don’t know shit about handling prisoners. I told Lady Eine
the ilkothella should have been turned over to us, but she insisted on them
watching the damned thing. Well, this should be right up their channel.” He
turned to a ranger. “Siobhan, take Brian and get back to the grotto, find Kasos
or his second. Tell them we have a hostage situation with a mate and we need
backup. I want at least two tactical teams here on the double.”
“Captain.”
Siobhan
sketched a salute and flipped over, tail threshing as she disappeared almost
instantly into the dark with the other ranger in her wake. Aidan knew that she
hated having to use a buddy system when traveling, but in ilkothella-infested
waters all mermaids on their own were fair game for the monsters.
“You reconnoiter the area?” Fergus
asked.
“Yes, sir.
There are ilkos
on every gap big enough for a mer. We’re going to need a diversion.”
The captain grunted.
“Most
likely.
I—”
Something brushed against Aidan’s skin,
the distant turbulence that came from something very large moving through the
water. Fergus held up a fist, and the rangers dropped into the sea grass,
freezing.
Aidan stared at the water overhead. A
large shadow, much larger than an ilkothella or a shark, passed overhead. His
senses recognized the movement pattern of an orca, but something was very, very
wrong with the marine mammal. For one thing, it was half again as large as any
orca he’d ever seen. For another, it moved stiffly, as if its muscles weren’t
quite functional.
Another joined it, with that same odd
stiffness to its tail motion. The creatures paused overhead, and Aidan’s hand
tightened on his trident.
And then something sweet and foul
drifted down from the creatures, a stench that they’d only smelled before on
the ilkothelloi.
Oh, fuck. Thetis changed
them, too.
Normally the orcas got along quite well with the mer population,
but the mers still had a healthy respect for the large marine mammals. If a
pair of them had been mutated into monsters…
Once, Aidan had found a comic book left
behind on a beach. The cover featured a gigantic green human dressed only in
pants smashing through a building. Thetis-mutated orcas would be the marine
equivalent of that creature.
They finally swam on, the disturbance in
the water settling. Fergus rose into a crouch, staring after them. “What in the
gods’ name were those?” he muttered.
Aidan stared at the hulking outline of
the wreck, wondering where Nick was right now. “Trouble,” he said shortly.
****
A sharp crack across his cheek yanked
Liam into consciousness. He winced and blinked.
Dim light,
pale wood overhead.
The smell of the sea covered by
human scents.
Something soft underneath him.
Bed?
No, bunk.
He tried to move and couldn’t. His hands
and legs had been bound with leather cuffs chained to the corners of the bunk,
keeping him spread eagled.
An amused chuckle made him look to the
side. Barnard Whitfield sat on the edge of the bunk, a cone-shaped stemmed
glass in one hand. He took a leisurely sip of the drink, licking his lips
afterwards. They glistened unpleasantly in the low light.
“It’s about time you woke up,” Barnard
said conversationally. “I was starting to wonder if I’d given you too much
sedative. But you’re such a big
beast,
I thought you
could handle it.”
Liam glared at Nick’s ex-lover, trying
to think around the fog in his head. “Where are Col and Kasos?”
“Oh, you mean your friends?” Barnard
shrugged.
“Probably still sleeping off their tasering.
Really, all of you traipsing down a narrow gangway like that? You must have
wanted to get caught.”
He finished the drink and put the empty
glass on a tiny side table next to the bunk, picking up something else and
holding it to the light. It was a small, silver knife with a tiny curved blade.
Liam tensed.
“Oh, good.
Now I have your
attention,” Barnard purred. “This should go rather quickly, then. First off,
what’s your name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
The bastard chuckled again at that. “I
like to know to whom I’m speaking, don’t
you?
”
Liam stayed silent. With a sigh,
Whitfield leaned over and held the knife to his neck, pressing in. He felt it
when the blade split his skin, and a drop of warm wetness rolled down his neck.
“The only people who saw us getting on board the yacht assumed you were quite
drunk. No one knows where you are. I can cut your throat right now, dump your
body overboard, and no one will ever know what happened.” The human’s eyes
glittered. “Now, what is your name?”
Liam couldn’t help swallowing, feeling
the blade slice just a bit deeper. “Liam.”
“Liam what?”
Damn humans and their bizarre need for
surnames. “Liam Brightwater.”
And suddenly the knife was gone. “See
how easy that was?” Whitfield said, picking up a cloth from the side table and
wiping the blood on it. He studied the smear.
“Odd color of
blood you have, Mr. Brightwater.
You might want to consult a physician
about that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Liam asked
tightly. “Since we’re exchanging pleasantries, don’t you think I should have
your name?”
“Oh, I suspect my pet told you all about
me already,” Whitfield said, cocking his head to the side.
“But
since you asked so nicely, Barnard Whitfield the Fourth, at your service.”
He gave an abbreviated bow, spreading his hands.
“Millionaire,
financier, philanthropist, and toast of Chicago’s Gold Coast.
And the owner of one Dr. Nicholas Gardiner, otherwise known as my
pet.”
Liam breathed in through his nose,
concentrating. He could scent two other humans on the ship. “That wasn’t quite
how Nick described you.”
Whitfield leaned forward, eyes alight.
“Oh? And how did my poor lost pet describe me, pray tell?”
“I believe the words ‘insane asshole’
were
mentioned at least once.”
Whitfield’s expression remained the
same, but the amusement drained out of his eyes.
“Oh,
Nicholas.
He always did have such a defiant streak. When we’re back in
Chicago, I’ll have to work on that.”
“He’s not going back to Chicago with
you.”
“Oh, isn’t he?” The human spun the knife
in his fingers. “I suppose you think he’s staying here with you and that lovely
little piece of rough trade you had with you in the park?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Liam lifted
his head, giving Whitfield a coldly contemptuous look.
“And why is that?”
“Because I’m not letting you touch him
ever again.”
Whitfield’s expression tightened, fist
clenching around the knife. “And you think you’re going to be his Dom, do you?”
“I already am. Nick isn’t yours anymore,
and nothing you can do will change that.”
Ever fiber in Liam’s body went taut as
Whitfield brought the knife down. Instead of cutting his skin, however, the
blade sliced through the t-shirt material with a soft purr. Once it shredded,
Whitfield tugged it off his body, then went to work on his shorts. The warm,
humid air of the cabin surrounded him, cooling the sweat on his body.
Whitfield ripped the shorts free at the
waistband, studying Liam’s now-exposed groin. “You’re well-hung, I’ll give you
that,” he said. “Pet’s awfully tight, as I remember. He must have screamed for
mercy when you shoved it up his ass.”
“Actually, he enjoyed it,” Liam said
through his teeth. “Then again, I’m familiar with the concept of lube.”
Whitfield tsked. “Where’s the fun if you
take all the pain out of it? A good slave needs to be fucked dry occasionally,
just to remind him who his master is.”
“That’s abuse, not power play.”
The human rolled his eyes.
“Another puritanical Dom who gets weepy over sub ‘rights’.
No wonder pet likes you. You’re weak. He can manipulate you any way he likes.”
He brought the blade down and laid the flat of it along the head of Liam’s
cock. “Of course, now so can
I
. Let’s continue our
conversation about pet, shall we? Where is the little minx?”
Liam went very still, anticipating the
pain. “I don’t know.”
Whitfield smiled and moved his hand. The
sharp blade bit lightly into Liam’s flesh, and he swallowed a shout. It felt
like a nematocyst had been dragged along his cock.
“I do like knife play. Blood is so
lovely against taut skin, don’t you find?” Whitfield lifted the blade. A fine
line of reddish-purple stained it. “This is the same scalpel I used to cut my
initial into Nick’s chest. I thought it was appropriate that I should use it on
the fool who thought he could take my pet away from me.”
Another cut, no deeper than the one
before, and Liam sucked a deep, harsh breath through his nose, trying to let the
pain pass through him.
“Where is my pet?” Whitfield repeated
gently.
“I don’t know!”
Another cut. A high, reedy sound
slithered out of Liam’s mouth before he could choke it off.
“Well, you certainly won’t be sticking
your prick where it doesn’t belong in the near future,” the human said,
studying his blade again. “
Which is in itself an achievement.
Still, I feel I must insist on my pet’s whereabouts, Mr. Brightwater. Otherwise
I may be tempted to start on a new target.”
The blade slipped down to the upper
surface of Liam’s sac, sharp edge pressing down lightly. A spark of panic
crackled through him, and he yanked with all his strength on the chained cuffs.
The bunk creaked, but held.
“Ah, impressive.
You’re quite
strong. It’s a good thing I installed heavy-duty hardware in this bunk.”
Whitfield pushed just a bit harder, not enough to break the skin but more than
enough to make Liam’s balls crawl towards his body. “That way, you’ll be held
still if I decide to remove these.”
Whitfield leaned close, giving Liam a
horribly conspiratorial smile. “It’s quite easy to castrate a man, you know. It
was done all the time to produce those lovely high voices for European choirs
and operas back in the day. Although I don’t think your singing will be nearly
that pleasant while I’m operating.”
Liam tried to get his breathing under
control. There was nothing he could say to this madman that would save himself.
I’m so sorry, chuisle. I wish we’d had
more time. Please, let Aidan take care of you.
“I don’t
know
where Nick is,” he snarled. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t
tell you.”
Whitfield smirked at that.
“Such chivalry.
Well, you won’t mind bleeding for your
obsession, will you?”
Liam willed himself not to scream,
waiting for the agony to slice into him. Before Whitfield could cut, however,
there was a loud thump from outside.
Whitfield paused, listening, then stood
and crossed to a small table that held a small leather bag, tossing the scalpel
next to it. He pulled out a piece of white cloth and a gun and came back to the
bunk, shoving the fabric into Liam’s mouth before the mer could close it. “You
stay here, pet. I’ll be back,” he said softly.
Liam watched him creep out of the cabin,
gun in one hand.
Then looked over at the scalpel.
****
Piotr steered the rental yacht from the
sleekly canted pilot house in the superstructure, keeping an eye on the
instruments. It was much smaller than Mr. Whitfield’s own yacht, only 55 feet
long, but that also made it easier to pilot. No need for a crew other than
himself and Milan.
The boss had told him to head for Miami,
so Miami it was. The boss also said to ignore any sounds coming from the main
cabin. That was easy enough to do. He grinned. God knew he’d done it before
enough times.
His cousin Milan sat in one of the
comfortable chairs behind the pilot area, leafing through a titty magazine. “I
hope we get some off time in Miami,” he said in Serbian. “I heard the girls
there will do anything.”
Piotr glanced over his shoulder. “Just
make sure you get a woman and not a ladyboy this time, yes?”
Milan cursed colorfully. “That was a
fucking mistake and you know it,” he grumbled. “Bitch had the biggest tits—how
was I supposed to know he had a dick, too? Besides, you wanted him, too.”
Piotr shrugged. It didn’t matter. Milan
was the one who had headed off with the tall, gorgeous redhead, and Milan was
the one who had reduced the ladyboy to a bloody, whimpering pile in the alley
behind the club where they’d gone to fuck. The next day, the boss had glanced
at the contusions on his driver’s knuckles and commented with a twinkle in his
eye that perhaps they shouldn’t visit that particular club again the next time
they traveled to New Orleans.