Chapter 16

Die or be a slave to vampires? What the hell kind of choice was that?

Patrick's mouth wouldn't work, and Claudius looked to Michael. "I'll let you decide. Should I kill your brother or let him live?"

Michael looked wildly from one to the other. Patrick shook his head, though he wasn't sure what it meant. Life as a servant to these monsters, or the horror of death? Which was worse?

Michael sagged. "Let him live."

Claudius turned back to Patrick. Without warning, he bit Patrick catty-corner to the first ragged wound. Patrick cried out, but the vampire stopped as quickly as he'd started.

"Knife."

At the command, Troy handed his master an open pocket knife. Patrick whimpered as Claudius cut what looked like a crude half-moon shape under the bite.

"There." Claudius tossed the knife to Troy, who licked the blade. "You're properly marked." Disdainfully, he knocked Patrick to the floor, where he landed like a horrified bag of potatoes. "You belong to me. I suggest you remember it, or your brother's immortal life will be a very short one."

He stepped over Patrick and paused at the door, his attention on Michael. "And I suggest you remember who your master is, lest your very mortal brother come to harm." Then, with a smirk, he called to Troy, "See that our guest is shown out."

"Yes, Master."

Claudius strode from the room, and Troy cheerfully scooped Patrick up. "Don't worry, boy, we'll take care of you." He followed his words with a gruff laugh that made Patrick's stomach turn.

Without looking back, Michael fled. Patrick wanted to scream after him, "See how well your God damn plan worked?" but there was no point.

Troy carried Patrick through the lavish house and outside. The sun was long gone and the night sky spread above them; cold and unforgiving.

They stopped on the other side of the stone fountain. Troy dropped Patrick roughly to the ground, then used his pocket knife to cut the ropes that bound his wrists. Patrick sat up and flexed his hands. Purple bruises blossomed where the rope had bit into him. He opened his ruined shirt and dabbed at his still bleeding chest. He could see the teeth marks, see where Claudius

Troy's rough laugh cut into his thoughts. The bald vampire's eyes shone with a mixture of cruelty, amusement, and something else. Something Patrick recognized but didn't want to think about.

He scrambled to his feet. His knees buckled and he caught himself on the fountain.

"What's wrong?" Troy asked. "You look scared, little boy." He traced Patrick's jaw with his finger and Patrick jerked away. Troy moved closer, his breath on Patrick's cheek. His whisper turned husky, "Are you scared?"

"Fuck you! I'm not a little boy." Patrick stumbled backwards, but his shaking legs betrayed him. Troy caught him and pulled him to him, roughly. Patrick fought, but he was too weak, and the vampire laughed.

"Now, now, be a good boy. We don't want the master to hear, do we?" Patrick kicked hard, but it did nothing.

Troy's eyes skimmed over the open shirt and the bloody, exposed skin. A smile twisted across his lips. He murmured something low, then struck in the same place Claudius had bitten. Patrick went stiff, prepared for the onslaught.

It didn't come.

Instead of pain, it was pleasure, like being caressed all over. Patrick struggled against it. He looked down; saw the top of Troy's bald head, saw the vampire's hand splayed out against his own pale skin. Somehow, this new sensation was worse than the pain; sicker.

It intensified. Patrick tried to hold back the moan but it escaped against his will. The sensations crashed through him like ocean waves, one after another, pounding against his consciousness. He could taste the darkness that threatened to engulf him. It tasted like cherries, like alcohol, and sex. It was the flavor of Hailey's kiss, the taste of a hot summer night, of a party in Anthony's backyard where the girls were drunk and slick

A horn honked. At the sound the illusion world rippled. Troy growled low in his throat and bit harder. His growl turned to moans and his body convulsed.

He released Patrick and let him fall to the cold grass. Patrick dragged himself away on the backs of his arms, too weak and confused to stand.

Troy wiped at his mouth with a shaking hand. Something in his expression made Patrick's stomach turn and his cheeks flush. "You better get out of here, little boy, while you have the chance."

The vampire turned and strode back toward the house. The horn sounded again and Patrick realized who it must be: Anthony.

"I'm coming!" he called weakly. He tried to shake off the clinging cobwebs of what? Was it fear? Horror? No. He knew what it was, and it made him sick.

He crawled toward the wall and used the gate to pull himself to his feet. He could see Anthony's car parked on the other side; headlights on, motor running. The driver's door opened and Anthony climbed out. He ran to the now-unlocked gate and tugged it open. Patrick stumbled and he caught him.

"Holy fuck! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Patrick assured him. He straightened and lurched toward the car. His stomach heaved, and he stopped to throw up.

Anthony drew back, his face wrinkled in disgust. "You drunk or something? You look like shit and you're covered in blood! Goddamn. Your nose is bleeding, and your chest. What the fuck? Did you get in a fight? We should go to the hospital."

Patrick wiped at his face with the back of his hand and pulled his coat closed to cover the wounds. "No. II wanna go home."

"You sure?"

"Yes!" Patrick rounded on him. "Just fucking take me home, all right?"

"Hey, whatever." Anthony backed away, hands in the air. "Don't flip out on me."

"I'm not"Patrick lowered his voice. "I'm not gonna flip out. I just want the fuck outta here, all right?"

He pulled the passenger door open and collapsed in the seat.

I can't fucking deal with this.

***

Anthony tried to find out what had happened. When he met silence, he talked too cheerfully about himself. Patrick leaned his forehead against the window and watched the countryside and the beginning of the town flash by. He nodded to Anthony's words, though he didn't really listen.

"I almost gave up on ya. I went home for a while, then Twila said that was shitty. But you did say an hour. You didn't say nothing about hanging out until, like, midnight. Then I thought about Michael and the way everything with him ends up in a big fuckin' mess, and I decided maybe Twila was right and I better come backand there you were."

They passed the park and Patrick thought he saw someone by the jungle gym.

"Stop!"

Anthony slammed the brakes and the car squealed to a halt. "Shit, what's wrong? You gonna puke again?"

Patrick threw the door open and leaned out, searching the darkness. "Is that you?" he shouted. "Are you there?"

Anthony craned his neck. "Um. who are you yelling at?"

Patrick climbed out of the car and stumbled toward the park, clutching his coat closed with one hand. "Are you there?"

"Pat?"

He turned back to see Anthony peering out from the car.

"Go. I'll see you later."

"You want me to leave you at the park like this?"

"That's what I said." Patrick waved one arm wildly. "Go!"

"Whatever. It's your funeral." Anthony pulled the door closed and took off, leaving behind a fading stream of music and exhaust.

Patrick turned back to the park and lurched toward the jungle gym. As he drew closer, he saw Jorick step from the darkness, his face grim. Patrick stumbled and fell to his knees. His stomach twisted and he fought to hold the bile down. He had nothing left to throw up, anyway.

He could feel Jorick's gaze, probing, seeking. Hot tears stung the back of Patrick's eyes and for a sick wild moment he hoped to hell Jorick saw everything. "What are they?" he whispered. "What in the fuck are they?"

Despite his words, Jorick's voice was reassuring. "You already know the answer. They're vampires, the same as I am. The same as your brother."

"No." Patrick choked and spit in the snow. "Michael's not like them."

A moment's silence passed, then Jorick said quietly, "Some are crueler than others. You should go home, rest, eat something. You've lost a lot of blood."

"You're going to kill him?"

"Claudius?"

Patrick nodded. "And Troy. You and that Oren guy, you're going to kill them?"

"I imagine so."

Patrick nodded again. "And if Michael and I help, you can kill them sooner?"

Jorick hesitated. "I suppose."

Patrick gathered his strength and forced himself to his feet. He clutched the jungle gym to stay upright; the cold metal bit into his hand. "Then we'll help you. As long as you kill those fucking sons of bitches, we'll do anything you want. Promise you'll fucking kill them."

"We'll kill them."

Patrick nodded and leaned against the jungle gym. That was right. They'd kill them.

And if they don't, I will.