Black Scar (4 page)

Brennan smiled.
“Brand new and all yours. Forty-six inch and a Blu-ray player. It’s to help
pass the time while you recover. I have movies you can borrow or tell me your
preference, lad, and I will purchase what you like.”

“Compliments of
Deegan, I suppose?”

“Aye, from the
Blackthorne Clan.”

Marcus glanced at
the ring still sitting on the night table. The large and ornate piece of
jewelry had a serpent curled around a dagger with a black onyx as the eye.

He turned to
Brennan. “HBO’s
Deadwood
, all three
seasons. That would pass the time nicely. Where is Logan McNeil?”

Brennan moved
toward the door. “I’ll go fetch her.”

Marcus lay against
the headboard and flinched as his bandaged back made contact. The temptation to
rip the bandages off his face while alone became hard to ignore, but he
supposed he should wait for his damned nursemaid.

A few moments
later, Logan breezed into the room. The enticing aroma of warm vanilla was even
more intense than the day before. He could distinguish other scents as well.
His sense of smell always had been strong due to being a Thrope, but now with
his Vampire blood it seemed enhanced. Why was he only scenting Logan? His
nostrils flared and he inhaled. Hot vanilla wafers just taken from the oven,
allspice and nutmeg. Had she been baking?

Brennan followed
behind her and stood on the opposite side of the room. Logan wore a pale-blue
sheer dress, which enhanced her shimmering diamond-colored eyes. He had only
seen her wear dresses, it enhanced her potent femininity. Her long flowing
white-blonde hair was tied in a ponytail that snaked over one shoulder.

She sat on the
edge of the mattress and took his hand. His semi-erect prick snapped to
attention.

“Are you feeling
better after your long sleep?”

Jesus, even her
voice with that slight Scottish burr had him reacting. What in hell was going
on?

“I guess.”

Logan waved
Brennan over. He carried a small tray with scissors, mirror, gauze, and what
looked to be a bottle of antiseptic. She released his hand.

What if nothing
had healed on his face? He subconsciously touched his mouth. The bandages on
the right side of his face stopped just above his upper lip. How lucky that his
mouth, chin, and jaw were not damaged in the attack. He could still talk and
eat. Marcus glanced at Logan’s sultry lips. And kiss, he hoped.

“Are you ready,
lad, for the unveiling?” her soft voice soothed.

“Yeah. Do it.”

She cut through
the layers of gauze and peeled back the bandages. Marcus kept his gaze firmly
fixed on her, watching for any reaction, but she kept her emotions shuttered as
always.

“Give me the
mirror.”

“Marcus, you
should be prepared...”

“Give me the
damned mirror!”

Logan handed it
over, and he held it in front of him.

Destruction,
devastation and total wreckage.

The right side of
his face resembled a three-kilogram tray of raw hamburger. It began just above
his eyebrow, of which only a small tuft of black hair remained. The dark, empty
hole where his eye used to be looked horrific. Deep, raw ridges of red, mottled
skin were held together with stitches from his empty eye socket to just above
his lips. His nose appeared to be more or less intact, though part of the
nostril was missing and he could see a small section of bone exposed near the
top of his nose. A tiny chunk of skin was absent, as if a sharp claw had
removed it cleanly.

He resembled a
fucking monster.

Marcus roared in
agony then sent the mirror sailing across room where it smashed to bits against
the wall. His arm flailed about wildly. Brennan sprinted to the bed and held
him down.

“Calm, Marcus. Be
still,” Logan whispered.

Her voice
immediately washed a wave of tranquil peace over him.

He lay still, but
Brennan continued to hold him down. Logan spread her fingers and moved her hand
across his body like McCoy again. Marcus’s breathing slowed, his eye focused on
her.

“Has the face
improved since you last changed the bandages?” His voice was raw, but calmer.

She did not look
at him. “No, lad, I canna see any improvement.”

His heart sank.
He knew it. Inwardly, he wanted to sob his fucking heart out while another part
of him wanted to tear the room apart.

Logan’s hand
moved up toward his damaged face. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Marcus
glanced at Brennan, and he seemed as surprised as he by what he observed.
Rolling warmth entered his body and moved upward toward his nose.

What in the fuck is she doing?

Logan gasped all
of the sudden and her eyes snapped open. Lowering her hand, her shoulders
slumped forward. Marcus touched the right side of his nose. The very tiny chunk
of skin had miraculously been regenerated.

“Can you do this
and repair my entire face?”

She shook her
head. “No, I canna. As it is just repairing that small piece of skin has
drained me. Brennan, can you help me back to my room? Could you bandage
Marcus’s face as well?”

A spark of worry
flickered inside Marcus. She sounded weak, exhausted, and her skin looked even
paler if that were possible. Brennan left his side and moved to Logan’s. She
leaned on Brennan’s broad shoulder and let him lead her from the room.

What kind of
damned power or skills did Logan possess? He never heard of a Faepyre, what the
hell was she? Weren’t Faes mythical creatures like fairies or pixies or
whatever the fuck?

A few minutes
passed, and Brennan entered the bedroom. He gathered the items on the tray and
placed them on the table. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he exhaled, and began
to bandage Marcus’s face.

“Is Logan all
right?”

“She is very
weak. She fell asleep right away.”

“Ever heard of a
Faepyre, Brennan?”

The man frowned
as he continued his duty. “No, but there are many in the Shadow World and
beyond I am not aware of. Everyone keeps to themselves. It is how we exist and
thrive. I have heard of the MacNeils of Cape Breton, they are actually an
affiliate of Deegan’s Clan, a branch of the Blackthorne tree. It is wise not to
ask too many questions.”

“Are you telling
me to shut my mouth, Brennan?’

“Not at all, lad.
These questions are best phrased to your Formator.”

Marcus inhaled
again. “Can you smell that? Vanilla, spices—and more.”

Brennan halted
his bandaging and inhaled. “Sorry, lad, I don’t smell a blessed thing.”

****

Oh, she was
utterly stupid. Logan lay on her bed.
 
Her body throbbed with fatigue and weariness. She should have never
attempted regeneration. Now her powers would be drained for at least a day.
Faepyres were expert at hiding their emotions, hiding them so deep other
Vampires could not sense them no matter how powerful they were. Doing so became
a form of protection. But she had been so moved by Marcus’s agonizing reaction
to his damaged face she wanted to try anything to relieve his distress.
 
How tragic, his face would not heal very much
beyond what it was now. Logan felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes.

In all her
centuries of existence never had a male appealed to her as Marcus did. He was
tall, at least six-feet-two and well put together in every way. Broad shoulders
tapered to a slim waist and hips down to long, muscular legs. His black hair
was layered, thick and gorgeous and his skin had a light golden hue. He must
have been quite beautiful. Then to see the damage wrought on such male
perfection, truly heartbreaking. Too bad she didn’t have a heart left to be
affected. And his one remaining eye, such an amazing shade of blue like the
skies over the Bras d'Or Lakes on her beloved Boularderie Island. His gaze must
have been mesmerizing, it still was really. If she were to be honest, despite
his permanent injuries and scars—he did appeal to her.

Logan turned on
her side and groaned from the effort. She would have to stay here the rest of
the day to regain her strength. Pulling the comforter to her chin, she sighed.
More disturbing than Marcus’s reaction to his damaged face was the fact she
detected the scent again when in his presence. It could not be. He was a
Bloodling, a Vampire babe in the woods and barely out of his nappies. The
enticing, sensual scent of leather, cloves, and aged oak could
not
be a result of the Mate Bond. Not
possible. She refused to consider the likelihood. Her tongue ran across her
lengthened fangs, another sign of recognizing one’s mate. She swore she would
never take another mate or take one so bleedin’ young.

No matter how
much he jump-started her dead heart.

****

Marcus did not
see Logan for the rest of the day. In the couple of hours he’d been left alone,
he contemplated his fate. He could feel sorry for himself and his ruined good
looks, but what would be the damned point? Maybe he did not wallow in self-pity
because of his Thrope blood. Thropes were notorious for their cold, detached
existence. They had emotions; however, they kept them well hidden. They were
the Vulcans of the Shadow World, Marcus thought with amusement.

Thropes did not
indulge in empathy for themselves or anyone else. His brother, Devlin, stood as
a shining example of the cold wolf, and he’d followed right in his footsteps.
Until he’d been turned. Since that fateful day he had not been in control of
much of anything, his emotions most of all.

His Blood Lust
must be growing stronger as he recovered because he craved blood and sex at
this moment as he had not since being turned. It no doubt explained why he
reacted to Logan McNeil’s touch. Until he’d been turned he did prefer men. What
did he know of anything? He had only been sexually active for a few years.
 
When he turned seventeen, Ethan, a member of
their pack, showed him the secret pleasures two men could share. Maybe that was
part of the thrill, the possibility of discovery. A small cluster of male
Thropes he’d been introduced to indulgenced in cock play and happily brought
him into their tight, secret circle. He had never been with a woman until right
after he’d been turned. His brother picked ‘six select bitches for him to fuck
and get with pup’. God, he hated those sexist and insulting Thrope terms for
women and children.

Regardless, he
found having sex with a woman wasn’t as abhorrent as he thought it would be. He
soon began to experiment when he had gone club-hopping in Halifax; he’d fucked
women as well as men. He learned it was the Vampire way. They didn’t care whom
they received blood and sex from, though most did have preferences for one
gender or the other. Marcus came to the conclusion he liked both equally and
before his attack gorged on ménages with either two women, or a woman and
another man. One particular raw and wild night had him with two men. He groaned
as his cock became painfully hard once again.

Brennan walked in
the room carrying a tray and raised one eyebrow at the obvious erection.

“Lad, you best
take care of that. I will wipe your arse while you are incapacitated, but be
damned if I will milk your prick for you.”

A rusty laugh
left Marcus’s mouth. “I have taken care of it, four times since yesterday. It
isn’t helping.”

Brennan laid the
tray next to him. Marcus inhaled. He always loved the smell of Campbell’s
Chicken Noodle Soup. No one had ever brought him soup on a tray when he was a
kid.

“This is no
laughing matter, Marcus. You are a Bloodling and need relief from the Blood
Lust or there could be consequences.”

Brennan laid the
tray in his lap, and Marcus winced as his cock came in contact with the warm
tray. Eating with his left hand proved to be awkward, but he soon adjusted. He
clutched the spoon and brought the warm soup to his lips and slurped noisily.

“What
consequences?”

“I hate to be
evasive, but again, this is something Deegan should discuss with you. There is
also your Thrope blood to be taken into consideration. It could be ramping up
the Blood Lust to dangerous levels. I will bring you a blood bag, as it may
take the edge off.”

Brennan left the
room. He finished his soup then pushed the tray aside. His head snapped up, the
vanilla scent. Logan stood in the doorway.

“You need me,”
she whispered huskily.

She stepped
across the threshold and closed the door.

“Brennan told me
of your condition. I just informed him the blood bag is not needed.”

Marcus didn’t
know whether to be amused or embarrassed. Logan sat next to him and rolled up
her sleeve and exposed her wrist.

“Drink.”

How cold and
clinical of her. He glanced at her pale wrist, the blue veins prominent and
pulsating in invitation. His fangs elongated and his cock swelled even more.
Never drank from another person before. His one-eyed gaze moved from her wrist
to her face.