Authors: Lynn Hagen
No one was going to mess with his
mate
and get away with it. Ian was his, and Mason was going to protect the man with his life.
Rick sat on the bed in a motel room. He was so tired of not being in his own bed that it wasn’t even funny. When the day came when he was able to return home, Rick wasn’t leaving his house for a year.
Maybe longer.
He held the envelope in his hand from Edward, wondering what the rat king had found. His brother-in-law had said he didn’t want to talk about the files over the phone, which made Rick curious as hell.
When he opened the large manila envelope, there were a few pieces of paper inside. Rick pulled them free and turned them over, reading the first page’s contents.
It seemed he was being blamed for the detention center and the twelve deaths. Now, blowing up the walls of the detention center and freeing the changelings he could take credit for, but the deaths were on the guards’ heads. If they hadn’t been trying to stop the changelings from getting to their young, the deaths would have never occurred—or not so many. They were experimenting on changelings, after all.
What in the hell had the guards expected when keeping parents from their children? Rick was just surprised there weren’t more than twelve deaths.
The second piece of paper contained the proof that Dyson Pharmaceuticals was funding the Breed Hunters, but Rick already knew about that. He would have Nate stash the paper away with all the other evidence they had come across—the false court documents blaming him for the changelings’ death down by the waterfront, and the proof that Sellers Pharmaceuticals had the college blown up.
The next page stated that Sellers Pharmaceuticals had two facilities they were claiming as test laboratories, but Edward noted on the page that changelings had been seen secreted into the places, and it looked as if they were going in under duress.
Edward also noted that Anthony Oswego was heading up one of the research labs. Rick realized in that moment that it wasn’t Garrett who didn’t want baby Kell to be taken, but Oswego. The man was apparently a scientist, and it probably gutted him to watch Deluca and Brooke walk out with his
prized project
—Oswego’s words, not Rick’s.
Rick set the papers aside that he had read, which left one final document in his hands.
His heart went from calm and relaxed to slamming in his chest as he read the entire page twice.
CONFIDENTIAL:
April 16, 2056
The DNA tests you requested have confirmed that Enrique Fernando Marcelo, male child born May 12, 2022, is indeed your biological son. Tested DNA has also revealed that the male child is a carrier of the lycanthropy disease. The strain of breed is undetermined without further testing of the subject. I have destroyed the evidence and the samples as well, per your request.
James Sellers
Sellers Pharmaceuticals
Rick glanced at the bottom of the paper, feeling his stomach twist so tightly into knots that he was cramping in pain and finding it hard to breathe as his entire world fell down around him. The letter was addressed to Captain O’Hanlon, Naval Special Warfare.
* * * *
O’Hanlon sat behind his desk staring at the far wall, lost in thought. Tech had phoned him to tell him that his computer had been hacked by an outside source and that some confidential files had been downloaded.
He knew he should have destroyed that confirmation letter over a year ago when he received it. But he had kept it as a reminder of why he was fighting this war.
Enrique should have been arrested months ago when he was accused of killing those changelings. The whole operation had been sloppily put together and executed with amateurs leading up the case. First, they arrested the wrong person, and then when they finally got the name right, they let Enrique slip away from them.
He should have handled it himself, but O’Hanlon was trying to distance himself from the situation. He had already killed to keep his secret. His then-assistant a year ago had come across the letter. O’Hanlon had to take care of him before the young man could say a word.
O’Hanlon ran his hand over his chin as he sighed. If he had known back then about changelings, he would have been more careful on leave when he slept with the young girl on vacation with her parents.
But Enrique’s mother had to go and hunt O’Hanlon down, claiming he needed to get to know his son.
O’Hanlon didn’t have a son.
Enrique was an animal.
It had taken him years to find out where Zeya Estra lived. It seemed her and her
mate
had moved around a lot and quite a few times had left no forwarding address.
It might have been the fact that O’Hanlon had tried to kill Zeya when he found out the truth. But the fact still remained that he finally found the bitch, under her married name Zeya Marcelo. He had her and her mate killed, but couldn’t find their brats.
Years later O’Hanlon thought Enrique was dead, but the dumbass he had sent to kill the animal had killed Enrique’s brother instead.
The man was proving very hard to get rid of, but O’Hanlon wasn’t going to give up. He finally found a way to get rid of the bastard before anyone found out he’d fathered an animal.
He just wasn’t sure how he was going to handle the incriminating download. He had the tech track down who stole the files, and he was told a team was on their way to Nevada.
O’Hanlon prayed it was Enrique who hacked into his computer. Then the son of a bitch would know why he was dying when the team showed up and eviscerated his ass.
* * * *
Ian opened his eyes, glancing around the unfamiliar room. There was a cheap painting on the wall, a lake scene of some sort. There was also a television sitting on a dresser, an alarm clock, and a small plastic holder with motel pamphlets.
He lay there, listening, holding his breath. The last thing he remembered was seeing a black jaguar tear Newman to pieces.
But this could be a trick. There was no telling what Newman was capable of doing. The man had tortured him in ways that would forever leave a scar on Ian’s soul, and right now he wanted to believe he was safe, but he didn’t trust the vampire.
A light snore made Ian turn his head. He stilled, his eyes raking over Mason’s face, watching him as the man slept. For the past few days Ian had been seeing and hearing things that he knew not to be real. He was sleep deprived in the worst way. Was this another illusion? Was Mason really lying next to him?
Had Newman found the ultimate way to torture him?
Ian slid from the bed, making sure not to jostle the sleeping man. He needed time away from everyone. For over a week Ian had been constantly surrounded, constantly watched. He needed time to take everything in, time to think.
He moved across the room, sitting in the corner, pulling his legs up to his chest, and took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. A fine thread of suffocating panic was trying to settle inside of him, but Ian was fighting to keep it out. Mason had said that they were friends. The man had told Ian that he didn’t need a Master.
Mason had no idea just how much Ian craved one.
A good one, not the way the vampires were with him, but someone who knew what Ian needed, what he had desired for so long. He hugged his legs, resting his cheek on his knees, wishing someone would take him as theirs, and that someone would take over for him.
A chill began to fill Ian. Not because he was cold, but because he was so utterly alone. He had Dorian, but the man still didn’t understand Ian, even if they were talking now.
Nobody understood him.
Having his brother back was great, but the void he felt deep inside of him hadn't been filled. He was still lost in his own mind, his own world, and it seemed he would remain that way for the rest of his life.
No one wanted to take him on. Ian was left to fend for himself and that was the most terrifying feeling in the world.
Mason would have been the perfect person, but the guy was pretending nothing was wrong, using friendship to try and fill the hole that had been eating away at Ian for years. Sadly, the man didn’t understand Ian either.
Ian blinked a few times as he stared into the dark room and knew now that he was fully awake and that Newman had truly died.
Now that Newman was gone, Ian felt like there was no one he could—oh god, why was he thinking this way? Newman had been a twisted and sick fuck, and Ian was sitting here in the dark missing him. That only showed how screwed up he truly was.
But knowing he had
someone
had made things a little easier to bear. Now he had nothing but a craving to be dominated, to be loved. Calico and Newman hadn’t given Ian what he needed, definitely not love, but they had given him something.
Something…
Having something—even if it was nightmarish—was better than having nothing at all.
Ian raked his hands through his hair, feeling the chill grow deeper. For years he had craved, needed, thirsted, and desired, and those feelings hadn’t gone away. They had only gotten worse, more intense, eating away at him with such deep hunger that Ian thought he was going to go mad.
“What are you doing down there?”
The deep rumble of Mason’s voice brought Ian from his thoughts. He pulled his hands from his hair as he tilted his head up, looking at Mason lying in the bed, his eyes filled with sleep and concern.
“I—” Ian wanted to say he was starving, that his body was caving in on itself from lack of guidance and someone to make him feel clean—but he closed his mouth, knowing Mason didn’t want to hear any of that and most definitely wouldn’t understand what Ian was going through.
Mason’s light-blue eyes were penetrating, so piercing that Ian turned his head and looked away. Ian felt ashamed at what he craved and what he desired. Having Mason watch him as he silently fell apart in the corner of some unfamiliar room only solidified Ian’s belief that he was so utterly alone.
Just a junkie.
Nothing special.
Nothing spectacular.
He heard Mason moving around, and then the man was down at Ian’s side, pulling him into such a powerful embrace that Ian wasn’t sure if he should push the man away or cry.
“You’re not alone.”
Ian rested his cheek against Mason’s chest, wishing the man was speaking the truth, but knew they were just softly spoken words, empty and void of any real truth.
“Ian, you have to tell me what’s going on with you. How can I help you if I don’t know?” Mason cupped the back of Ian’s head, his fingers giving his scalp a gentle massage. Whether Mason knew it or not, right now, with what he was doing, he was giving Ian more than he had had in a very long time.
“Heal me,” Ian said in a tortured whisper, clutching Mason’s shirt.
Mason pulled Ian back, just an inch, but enough to study his eyes. “How?”
Ian pushed at Mason’s chest. When the man let him go, Ian moved away. He positioned himself on his knees, lay forward, and then clasped his hands behind his back, resting his cheek on the carpet.
“Ian?” Mason’s voice was barely audible. “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
Ian lifted his head. He had to blink a few times to keep back the tears. “Whatever your heart tells you to do.”
Ian held his breath, praying—god, he was praying so hard that his head began to hurt and his stomach became one big nerve that was twisting and locking as he lay there, waiting.
Mason moved closer, his heat brushing the surface of Ian’s side. He wanted that heat to envelop him so badly that Ian damn near begged.
He felt the featherlight touch on his back. Ian’s eyes fluttered closed as his breathing became shallow but quick.
Soft fingers slid down his spine and then tentatively touched his entwined hands. Ian didn’t move. He didn’t breathe—his mind froze as Mason moved closer, his other hand brushing gently over Ian’s hair.
“Your skin is so soft.” A silken whisper that made Ian’s nerve endings ignite, chasing away the chill lying just under his skin.
When Mason’s hands began to move away, Ian almost collapsed with disappointment. “Please,” Ian said in desperate hunger, a hunger that was tearing him to pieces. “Don’t stop, please, Mason.”
“Just touch you?”
“Yes, please.” Ian wanted more, but touching was a start. He would take whatever Mason gave him. Ian’s breath stuttered when Mason’s finger traced the shell of his ear. He moved his head, leaning into the touch. Ian knew better than to move, but he was starving for attention, craving what Mason was so willingly giving him at the moment.
“Sit up.” The command was sharp.
Ian pushed to his knees and was shocked when Mason gripped his hair and pulled his head back, his lips pressing hard into Ian’s. Mason’s other hand continued to skim over Ian’s skin, setting small fires wherever the man’s hand touched him. He still didn’t understand his reaction to Mason. Usually when someone touched him like this, their hands on his body, Ian was repulsed, praying they left him alone.
Now, he only wanted more.
“Mine,” Mason growled into Ian’s mouth.
Ian tilted his head back, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Mason gazed into his eyes. “I tried to give you friendship, but I can scent a hunger so deep inside of you that it has wrapped around your heart and is slowly killing you,” Mason stated with a fierce tone that made Ian shiver.
“It is,” Ian admitted with a shaky breath.
There was a hard glint in Mason’s eyes. Ian wasn’t sure where it had come from, but the etched lines around the man’s mouth told Ian that Mason wasn’t playing around. He was dead serious.
“You’re mine, Ian.” The words were spoken through a clenched jaw as Mason’s eyes turned to blue fire. “You will forget everything those bloodsucking vampires have ever taught you. Understood?”
Ian’s eyes closed to half-mast, his lips curving into the first real smile he had felt in longer than he could remember. “Yes.”