Blood Sworn 1: Salva Me Read online

  “You begin to see, danshaku. Though I did not suggest Master Carter for this, he is still an invaluable Host. While he is not yutakana hosuto, he may still serve you both with the blood needed to continue the change already begun.”

  “Can you be certain such a process has begun, Makoto?” Jeremy could not help but question such an impossible opportunity. “How do you know?”

  “Did he not bite you, danshaku? The marks of his teeth were clear on your shoulder. As I mentioned then, they resembled those of the minorii. I have reason to know how such marks appear.”

  Jeremy fought back the embarrassment of having such a revelation made in front of Carter. Then Makoto’s admission caught his attention. He had reason to know? Had he, perhaps, left such marks when he first turned? Makoto was so capable, it was easy to forget he was only minorii, not fully nosfera. In fact, since David’s death, Jeremy couldn’t even say how frequently Makoto fed, since minore feedings took three—Host, minore, and full nosfera—and Makoto had not always come to Jeremy.

  He took a breath, and then another, trying to slow the sudden rapid pace of his heart. He turned to William Carter, the man who had shared his bed more than once, willing to be a sex partner, agreeing to act as Host for Makoto on more than one occasion, and always returning, despite his repeated suggestions otherwise. “Will you do this for me? For Morgan? Will you act as Host and give each of us blood to save Morgan’s life?”

  Carter looked at him for a long moment and then heaved a sigh. “I’ve never been able to say no to you, did you know? Yes, Lord Colbourne, I will act as Host for you, and for Holland.” After a moment, he added, “Just make sure you have someone nice for me afterward.”

  * * * *

  Heat. Unbearable heat. It radiated through Morgan, starting from everywhere and ending nowhere, waking him from the blackness of some deep, cool slumber. He thirsted for something he could not name, not yet, though the word skittered at the edges of his mind each time he tried to think of it. The chill darkness beckoned, offering respite from the pain.

  Even as he searched, what he sought came to him in a red flood that soothed his burning body. The hot, copper taste of blood cooled the fire, sending a shiver of ecstasy through him.

  More.

  Another blessed draft of the exquisite liquid assuaged his thirst, and then a third, the sweetness almost unbearable. The heat withdrew further, leaving him adrift in a cocoon of sensation. Coolness, calmness.

  A voice called him, pulling him away from comfort and dragging him back into the furnace consuming him.

  “Wake, Morgan. It is time for you to return to me.”

  Denial. Morgan had no wish to return, to face the agony awaiting him. Here, he had the safety of oblivion, the comfort of nonexistence.

  “You must wake, Hostia Aeternus. Do you deny your master?”

  His master. Understanding came slowly to him, but he began to remember. Snatches of memory. His master. Jeremy—no, Takeshi, wasn’t it? Something about the second name sent a shiver of longing through him. It had been a gift, that name. A gift of—of what?

  “Of love, Morgan.”

  The whispered words carried that love through the haze of pain, caressing his mind and touching more fractured memories.

  Death. He should be dead. He had asked, no, begged to die by Jeremy’s poison.

  “Come, Holland-san,” another voice whispered, quiet, strong, yet brooking no argument. “Our master would allow you to leave us. I will not permit such disgrace. You are bound to his service. And your daughter awaits your safe return.”

  “Makoto is correct, Morgan. You must wake, and live—for your daughter, for all of us.”

  It came to him at last why such pain assaulted him. Why he did not wish to look at the whole of those memories that came relentlessly into the forefront of his mind. Memories of Thorven and the unspeakable acts Morgan had endured, and the vileness of the madman’s venom.

  But Jeremy called. Morgan could not deny the summons. The strength of his love would not allow him to abandon his master, not when he called. He pushed aside the beckoning darkness, following the trail of Jeremy’s thoughts back through the agony.

  He blinked at the brilliance of the room, though the draperies were drawn against the morning sun and only a few candles were lit. As his eyes became accustomed to the light, he realized Jeremy sat on the edge of the bed, gripping his hand. Makoto stood nearby, hand on the shoulder of a young man Morgan recognized as one of Jeremy’s regular partners.

  “Who?” The word came out in a croak, and pain shot through Morgan’s throat.

  “Will Carter,” the man said, a peculiar gleam in his eyes. “I have been asked to provide blood,” he finished enigmatically.

  Relief flooded Morgan. Jeremy would have someone for the feeding, then. He very much doubted he would be up to the task. It would take him at least a month to recover from his own stupidity. He looked at Carter and gave him a smile, though such a simple thing proved an inordinate task. “Thank you, Mr. Carter.”

  Surprise crossed the handsome face. Surprise and a tinge of embarrassment. “No need,” Carter mumbled as a hint of crimson touched his nose. “I’m happy to be of service.”

  Morgan shifted against the aches radiating from every bone of his body. He hurt—God, how he hurt—from his ass to his head. Even his teeth pained him.

  “He will also be serving you blood for a while.” The velvet-soft tones of Jeremy’s voice soothed nerves abraded by anxiety.

  Then the import of the words dawned. “Me?”

  “You’ve been feeling—odd—lately, true?”

  Morgan forced his hazy memories to focus. “Yes.” Embarrassment flooded him as he recalled that realization. “From the turning.”

  “Yes, but there is more to it. Something unexpected occurred, something caused by who, or rather, what you are. To be precise, it is a difference in your blood.”

  “What difference?” Morgan tried to focus. “Explain,” he said, confused. How could his blood differ from that of any other Host? Blood was blood.

  “Not exactly,” Jeremy said with the ghost of a smile.

  Morgan allowed the slip to pass, though his erstwhile lover had failed to ask permission as promised. “Why am I so unusual?”

  “You are Hostia Aeternus, my yutakana hosuto. The Eternal Host, the bountiful host. There is a quality to your blood that draws any nosfera to you. Have you never wondered why I use those particular terms? Your blood called to me from the first.”

  “I always thought they were, well, endearments or something.” Morgan couldn’t keep the embarrassment from his voice. Considering how long he’d fought against the intimacy, such a thing suggested it had been presumptuous of him to consider the words any such thing.

  Either Jeremy chose to ignore the thought, or he had politely withdrawn from Morgan’s mind. Given the circumstances, most likely the former. Nonetheless, he answered the spoken words. “They are such endearments. However, they are also the most appropriate titles for you.”

  Exhaustion and pain cut into Morgan’s patience, though he tried to suppress it. He wished Jeremy would speak more plainly. “How did this special quality affect the turning?”

  “Normal turnings require a pure nosfera and his preferred Host in order to properly alter the venom. Then the one being turned is essentially infected by the nosfera, but with venom which no longer has quite the same level of toxicity.”

  A measure of enlightenment dawned on Morgan. “Inoculation, then, similar to the prevention of smallpox.”

  Colbourne gave him the ghost of a smile. “Yes. However, in your case, when you acted as turning Host for me, the peculiar qualities of your blood began the turning process in you at that time. When Thorven gave you what should have been a lethal bite, your body naturally fought it. When I did the same, at your request—”

  “It completed the process?” It seemed the logical response, from what Morgan could remember of his earlier instructions.

  �
��Yes.” Unalloyed relief underscored Jeremy’s simple answer. The sound of that relief vanished with the next words. “It also may have accelerated Thorven’s collapse.”

  “What?” Morgan couldn’t see how the two were connected. He’d assumed Thorven had been out savaging the local communities.

  Jeremy’s smile turned just a bit wolfish. “I told you before that the Colbourne venom was different, more toxic to other nosferii. It may be that the remaining presence of my venom in your blood proved his undoing.”

  Shock could not begin to describe Morgan’s feelings. Shock, and something yet to be explored. A thought came to him. “So my recent, ah, eccentric behavior was caused by this?”

  Jeremy smiled fully, sending Morgan’s heart rate skittering upward for a moment. “Yes, your eccentric actions were those of a newly turned nosfera in need of blood.”

  “I don’t want to intrude on this lovely discussion of bedroom behavior, but, well, I was promised someone nice.”

  Morgan went scarlet at the insinuating tone in Carter’s voice. Just when he had begun to reconsider his bad opinion of the man. Then he recalled just what had been done, and by whom, and a complicated wave of emotions flooded him.

  Jeremy’s fangs penetrating another man. Drinking another man’s blood. The enraging thoughts were immediately supplanted by the awkward realization that Jeremy had given him that blood, sharing the intimate gift of life by mouth.

  Makoto cleared his throat. “This way, Carter-san,” he said with an eloquent gesture. “Your guest awaits down the hall. I will take you there.”

  Carter turned back as he passed through the door. “Be gentle, Jeremy. Morgan’s had a rough day.” He pulled the door shut with an emphatic thud.

  Morgan looked up at Jeremy, surprised to find his master’s face almost as crimson as his own. Despite that, desire shone unabated in those ebon eyes. Desire, and something else. An emotion always echoed there. Love.

  He’d spent far too many years blind to the strength of the feelings that had truly bound them both since the moment they met. Pride had been his downfall. Pride in his masculinity. Pride as the Colbourne Host. But never pride in his love, in his longing for Jeremy’s touch.

  So much wasted time. And to realize it only after it had become necessary to discard it?

  “It was never necessary. Why did you keep such thoughts to yourself?” Jeremy’s voice shook the tiniest bit.

  A flutter of paper landed on his chest, and Morgan stared at it for a moment. He had meant those words to save Jeremy.

  “How could you write such a thing?” Jeremy’s voice rang with fury and indescribable anguish. “To call Thorven your true master and leave me behind to face his madness alone!”

  The power of Jeremy’s emotions resounded through Morgan, settling with heavy pain on his heart. He reached out to touch the rigid line of Jeremy’s back where he sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Your duty as the Baron of Colbourne is to face and kill monsters such as Thorven.” Morgan closed his eyes, remembering. “When I found you all those years ago, you were dying. Would have died but for the miraculous chance that brought me along that road. You were dying,” he repeated, desperate to share the horror of his realization when he had understood he might lose Jeremy. “I had to protect you. I couldn’t let you face him.”

  The silence of the room beat on Morgan’s ears like a drum as he waited for Jeremy to speak. An eternity passed before a soft sigh split the silence.

  “Yet you left me here, wishing me to believe you accepted Thorven to be your true master. To realize he might kill you before I could get there.” The rawness of Jeremy’s pain cut like a knife. “That I might lose another Host to those I am oath-bound to stop.”

  “Forgive me, Takeshi,” Morgan whispered, stricken.

  Jeremy shifted on the bed, reaching to stroke the bandages swathing Morgan’s neck. “Yet in spite of everything, I am filled with wonder to know you loved me enough to sacrifice your happiness—and your life.”

  “Such an incredible gift, Hostia Aeternus. Do you realize what you have done? You have brought a legend to life.”

  “What legend—” Morgan found his words stopped by Jeremy’s kiss, excruciatingly tender. “What are you talking about?”

  “Later, yutakana hosuto. For now, allow me to touch you. Let me feel you and know you are still with me.”

  “Lie still, Morgan,” Jeremy said aloud. “You are injured, so don’t move.”

  “Can I do anything else?” Morgan tried to keep the frustration from his voice.

  The words were honestly meant. Every part of him ached, although with each passing minute the pain lessened. Morgan wanted to reach out and touch Jeremy, to reassure himself with every fiber of his being that it was truth, that he was not trapped in some hellish dream to be snatched away to find Thorven leering down at him when he woke.

  “No, this is no dream. If it is, we are both trapped in it.” The words reverberated in his mind, resonant with the force of Jeremy’s denial.

  “Thorven is dead.” Morgan said the words aloud, hoping the weight of hearing them would calm the terror lurking in the back of his mind. Hoping to hear Jeremy’s affirmation.

  “YES. HE IS dead.” Jeremy put as much emphasis as he could into the words, glad to feel Morgan’s tension recede somewhat.

  The sudden rush of terror that had flooded Morgan at the mere thought of Thorven had allowed Jeremy another glimpse of what his beloved Host had suffered at the nosferatu’s hands. It had vanished almost as swiftly, but it was even more than what Thorven had revealed. Enough for Jeremy to realize how much care would be needed for Morgan to heal.

  He leaned over to take Morgan’s lips in his again, keeping his kiss gentle, infused with all of the tenderness overflowing his aching heart. As he felt Morgan relax, Jeremy reached down to run his hand gently over the sculpted muscles, taking care to avoid the bruises and other injuries as best he could manage. The extent of the lacerations appalled Jeremy, as he saw how frequently they overlapped. As though Thorven had layered one hurt upon another. Morgan’s hiss of pain stopped Jeremy’s delicate explorations.

  “Forgive me. I should have come sooner.”

  “You came in time to save my life,” Morgan whispered, closing his eyes. “I will heal soon enough.” After a moment, he reached out to grasp Jeremy’s hand, fingers tightly entwined. “He liked to hear me scream,” he said at length. “The more silent I was, the crueler the torture.” A shiver of remembered terror accompanied the last words.

  “He is dead,” Jeremy said again, hoping the repetition would soothe his Host. “I have killed him for you.”

  Trite words, perhaps, but true enough. Jeremy’s killing blow had not been to save the people of Sussex nor to perform his ancestral duty. It had been to destroy the one who had brutalized his soul mate. His tamashī no hanryo.

  Jeremy tightened his hold on Morgan’s hand. “Sleep. You must allow the changes in your body to help you heal. In a few days, you should feel better, and the memories will not be so fresh.”

  Morgan gave him a doubtful look at the last words but offered the barest of smiles. “Make sure you feed again soon. You still look too pale.”

  Alive by the thinnest of margins, yet Morgan could still think of Jeremy’s feeding schedule.

  “Sleep, you fool,” Jeremy repeated as he stretched out on the bed beside Morgan. “It can wait.”

  * * * *

  Jeremy waited impatiently, watching as Morgan’s new minore nature mended his injuries in half the time it would have taken had he still been a mere human. In spite of his improved powers of healing, more than a week passed before Morgan could do more than sit up.

  Will Carter offered up his blood twice during that time, much to Morgan’s chagrin and Jeremy’s torment. Nevertheless, Morgan accepted with reasonably good grace each time, despite the occasional snide remarks by Will as he left to seek his sexual satisfaction elsewhere.

  Jeremy had steadfastly refused to surr
ender to his postfeed urges, though the pain of self-denial grew after each transfer. Now his waiting was over. For this third feeding, they could both indulge themselves, though Carter would still be sent on his way after.

  “Really, Jeremy, can’t I stay this time? Arthur’s nice, but I’d rather stay with you.” Will Carter looked at Morgan. “He certainly looks healthy enough now.” After a long, thoughtful stare, he added, “I wouldn’t mind trying him on for size.”

  Morgan’s face shot from pink to crimson in half a heartbeat. Jeremy suppressed a smile, knowing it would be misunderstood. By both of them. The idea had its merits; the thought of helping Morgan enjoy Will’s admirable skills aroused Jeremy, but such a treat would have to wait. His stubborn soul mate had never been exposed to a minore feeding triangle beyond the simple blood transfer transactions so far.

  Besides, for this first sexual reconnection with his tamashī no hanryo, Jeremy wanted the man all to himself. Will would have to settle for Arthur. Or Makoto. At least for now. Maybe at the next feeding.

  “Later, Will. Morgan may look well enough, but he was badly injured. He is still healing, and his injuries are still tender.”

  “I’m not sure what you two are talking about,” Morgan muttered, though his beet-red face suggested otherwise. “But I’m in better shape than you think.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Jeremy said, pulling Carter to the bedside. “For now, it’s feeding time.”

  He turned to Will, whose blue eyes glittered with anticipation. Jeremy took hold of the man’s slender chin and turned Will’s head to expose the soft flesh of his throat. When Jeremy bent to lick the fragile skin, Morgan’s hand touched his hip, stirring his lust.

  Schooling himself to patience, Jeremy forced himself to wait until he knew Will would feel pleasure before sinking his fangs into the pulsing blood source. At the bite, Will hissed in satisfaction, clutching at Jeremy’s shoulder while he surrendered his blood.

  Jeremy delivered the second bite, then bent to give the blood to Morgan, who opened his mouth to receive the nourishing kiss. As he did so, Will reached to touch Jeremy’s straining erection, stroking him to full arousal before turning to leave.