Blurred Memories (23 page)

The boy’s widening eyes were
a delicious treat. His pleading, once his Master started, even
sweeter.

* * * *

Marc opened his hands,
trying to drop the whip that he still held in his mind. The sound
of leather falling on stones didn’t come, however, and all Marc
could hear were the long-gone echoes of Blake’s and Kate’s pain.
But no, it hadn’t been Kate. She had never been the demons’
prisoner.

Had she?

He blinked wildly and looked
around, fighting past the images in his mind to focus on what was
really there. Both Simon and Jen were looking at him with the same
confusion.

“
They must have used my
blood,” he said; his voice sounded like a croak. “Like they used
Kate’s. How did they get…”

But the how did not matter
as much as what they had done with it.

* * * *

It had been years since
Blake’s Master had first taught Blake to call him ‘master.’ No, not
years. Decades. Time passed so quickly when one was having fun. And
Blake’s Master was having a lot of fun indeed. His toy had a sinful
mouth, and he was quite a sight on his knees. As for fucking him…
Blake’s Master doubted he would ever tire of him.

Still, Blake was every bit
as rebellious as the day he had been brought in. And while a bit of
a fight could be fun, every now and then, and bringing in a new
incarnation of the girl to remind the boy of his place was a
favorite game of his Master’s, it was sometimes tiresome to keep
going back to square one yet again.

The part of Blake that was
purely vampire wouldn’t be broken, it seemed. But his Master had an
answer to that: another bit of magic that the demon mages had
agreed to perform for him. They were tiring of his lack of
progress, but he had managed to convince them
nonetheless.

Once Blake was half human,
that pesky vampire part would only sustain his life without giving
him such strength anymore.

Maybe some might consider
it cheating, but Blake’s Master had been given entire latitude to
turn Blake to their cause, and the only rule that mattered as far
as he was concerned was that he always had his way
.

* * * *

Marc brought a hand up and
covered his mouth. Vomiting was a human thing, but his stomach was
roiling with dry heaves. He wanted to escape the flow of images,
stop watching his Childe get hurt by hands that so resembled his
own, but he didn’t know
how
. And at the same time, a little
voice deep inside him demanded that he let the images pour over
him. So often, he had asked Blake to share what had happened to
him, to explain—to let go of those memories so he could start
healing. But Blake was too stubborn, and would rather risk being
triggered by an old memory than share his pain. This was the only
way Marc would ever know what had happened—
everything
that
had happened. Even if he had known how to stop it, maybe he
wouldn’t have.

* * * *

Tight. Always so tight. It
had been centuries, and still… Always perfect, his boy. Always so
fucking tight. Not always as docile as he was now, but the girl had
been in just a few days before, and Blake was always on his best
behavior after one of her visits. Always eager to please and not
earn further punishment for her. After all this time, it still
surprised Blake’s Master that she was such a good tool to control
his boy, but he didn’t question it. He didn’t question anything
that let him enjoy his boy so thoroughly.

He came with a wordless
shout and a hard snap of his hips, his hands tight on Blake’s hips
and holding him in place. After a few moments, he pulled out and
took a step back.

“
Clean me, my
boy.”

Diligently, Blake pushed
back from the wall and turned before gracefully falling to his
knees. His deformed hands remained on his thighs as his mouth
sought his Master’s cock; he had learned, at long last, not to
touch himself, even when he was hard and aching, like he now
was.

Thoughtlessly threading his
hands through his boy’s hair, Blake’s Master pondered Blake’s fate.
Would he let Blake come today?

* * * *

Marc blinked several times
to focus his gaze again.

“
Did you know?” Words came
out as a growl, and Jen shuddered under his stare. “Did you know
this would happen?”

She shook her head, and her
mouth worked silently a couple of times before anything came out.
“
What
is happening?” she asked. “I don’t know…”

Her voice faded when her
face—all of her—disappeared again, giving way to another
vision.

Another memory.

* * * *

Blake’s burning eyes asked
why. The Master refused to listen, refused to answer, and redoubled
his efforts, the whip cracking and making more noise than Blake
did, stirring more air than he was. So perfectly trained. So
beautifully broken in to satisfy his Master. And now they were
taking him back. Taking his Master’s toy away, and sending him back
to the world from which they had taken him.

Blake’s Master had known
this moment would come. He had known from the start that this was
how it would end. But he had told them, just days earlier, that
with just a little more time, Blake would make the most wonderful
spy. A few more months, even a couple of years, and it would only
be hours or days on the other side. Blake’s Master had never
questioned his orders until now—he had never needed to—but this
time, he had. And he had been reminded of his place in a very
effective manner.

A very undignified
manner.

Blake’s eyes closed, freeing
two more tears, one on each cheek, but still not a sound. He
wouldn’t be making sounds anymore, not for anyone. If his Master
couldn’t have his moans and pleas, no one else would have them,
either. The boy’s front and back were already a bloody mess, but
his Master continued, putting all his frustrations in each
blow.

His boy. His. No one
else’s.

* * * *

“
Marc!”

It wasn’t the sound of his
name that brought Marc back to the present, but the slap that
accompanied it. He blinked several times and raised a hand to touch
his stinging cheek. Jen had quite an arm on her. She stood in front
of him, looking at him with undisguised worry.

“
Are you in there?” she
asked, and from the sound of it, she was ready to slap him again if
she found his answer lacking.

“
Yes,” he said, and even to
his own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

“
Come on.” Simon tugged at
his arm. “We have to go.”

He stared at Simon and
repeated numbly, “Go? Go where?”

Didn’t Simon realize that
there was no going back? Couldn’t he understand that after what
Marc had just seen, what he had experienced—remembered—he couldn’t
bear the thought of facing Blake and Kate again?

The images he had seen in
that cell weren’t just images. They were memories, each accompanied
by sensations and thoughts. He remembered what Blake had sounded
like when he had pleaded for the pain to stop. He remembered the
smell of his Childe’s fear, a fear as bitter as it was deep,
inspired by Marc himself. He remembered the feel of the whip handle
in his hand, and how Blake had trembled under him. He remembered
watching Blake for hours, waiting for him to move when he had been
ordered not to, waiting,
hoping
for that slip up that would
justify another round of punishment—not that a justification had
ever been necessary. He remembered the taste of Blake’s blood laced
with hate and pain, and that memory obliterated the memory of
Blake’s blood flavored with lust and that thing neither of them
would call love, even if they both knew it was.

“
Go where?” Simon sounded
dumbstruck. “To free the prisoners? Isn’t that what we came for?
And then we can go home. This place gives me the
creeps.”

The prisoners. Yes, they had
to free the prisoners. That was why they had come, even if it
wouldn’t make up for Blake’s imprisonment. And then…

“
I can’t go back,” he
murmured and took hold of his sword again.

He looked around the small
room, trying to decide where he would go. Back to Riverton and its
quiet mountain? No, that wouldn’t do. Blake would find him there.
The whole point was not to be found again, to disappear from
Blake’s life as thoroughly as Marc possibly could without dying.
Blake didn’t need the pain of that broken bond on top of everything
else he had endured. Maybe then, when Marc’s presence didn’t remind
Blake of his ordeal, day in and day out, he would finally be able
to start healing.

“
Can’t go back?” A burst of
bitter fear rose from Simon, and his voice rose in pitch. “What do
you mean, you can’t go back? What happened?”

Marc considered him for a
few seconds. He didn’t want to answer, but if it helped Simon
understand demon magic better…

“
That orb. The demons used
it to change someone into my double. They used my blood, I think.
And when I touched it, I saw what that other Marc did. I saw it
all. And I—”

A loud sound suddenly
blared, high pitched and deafening, reminiscent of the wail that
had once echoed through the foggy streets of the City.

“
Damn it!” Sudden fear
flashed from where Jen stood by the door, acrid and unpleasant
enough that Marc rubbed his nose. “They know we’re here. We have to
leave.
Now
!”

“
But the prisoners,” Simon
started. He was still looking at Marc with an expression of
fascinated horror.

She interrupted him at once.
“Forget the prisoners. If we don’t get out of here, we’ll be
prisoners ourselves. Or worse.”

Marc stared at her. Worse
than prisoners? Couldn’t she see that nothing was worse than that,
not even death? She had been in one of those cells; she should have
known.

She frowned at him, then
grabbed his arm and shook it. “Snap out of it!” she demanded.
“You’re going to get yourself killed. And us with you.”

She looked ready to slap him
again. Marc blinked. The alarm was still shrieking. Somewhere
outside the tower, demons were shouting in their harsh grunting
language. Jen was scared. Simon was terrified. Both were looking at
him like they were waiting for him to do something. And of course
he had to do something. He had brought them there. He was
responsible for them. He couldn’t let them be taken—like he had let
Blake be taken from him.

“
Let’s go,” he said,
firming his grip on his sword and taking a resolute step toward the
door. “Simon. Is the glamour still active?”

Simon nodded frantically,
but he still pulled that small jar from the bag he clutched to his
chest like a shield and threw a pinch of the glitter powder on all
three of them.

“
Jen? You’re
ready?”

“
No,” she replied flatly,
but she nonetheless stepped forward, her sword in her
hand.

“
We’re not fighting
demons,” Marc reminded them. “We’re just going through. Only kill
if it can be done quickly, quietly, and with no one
noticing.”

They both nodded, although
the words had been meant for Jen. Marc pulled the door open very
quietly; he could hear hurried demon steps coming
closer.

“
Let’s go,” he said, and
preceded them out into the corridor.

At the very end, a handful
of demons were approaching, weapons raised and obviously ready to
fight—to kill. Even knowing that they couldn’t sense his presence,
Marc couldn’t help but tense. When Simon and Jen joined him, he
motioned for them to press close to the wall like he was, where a
passing demon wouldn’t accidentally jostle them and realize someone
was there. They started down the hallway, stilling when the demons
passed them, then hurrying further. At the end of the hallway, they
should have turned right to retrace their steps, but another group
of demons was guarding the way out.

“
This way,” Jen said
urgently, turning left instead. “It’s longer, but there’s a
way.”

Longer meant passing in
front of cell after cell, the heavy doors doing a poor job of
blocking the crying and moaning inside. With each new cell they
passed, Marc’s steps grew heavier until he finally
stopped.

“
What is it?” Simon all but
squeaked, stopping next to Marc and looking around
nervously.

“
How many people can you
put under the glamour?” Marc asked, his eyes on the closest door;
the stench of fear poured right through it.

“
How many…” Simon followed
Marc’s gaze and gulped. “I don’t know. Five, maybe six. It’s a
strain to hold on as it is. Something is pulling at my magic
and—”

“
We don’t have time for
this,” Jen interrupted. “They know we’re here. They’ll be guarding
the breach even more closely.”

“
It’s what we came here
for,” Marc said, shaking his head and reaching for the padlock that
secured the door. “
They
are what we came here
for.”