Blood Bonds (10 page)

Haley touched his hand resting on the table edge. The Male froze. Unlike Niles, he didn’t lose the look of something real or alive. Creyal just looked scared.

“Creyal.” She moved her hand up his forearm and paused over the track marks at the crook of his arm. Profound sadness filled Haley’s insides. Creyal was killing himself, slow and sure. He was filling his body with Alchemy poison and it was eating him from the inside out. When she looked at him his eyes were very wide, his face averted, his mouth parted so he could pant.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Haley asked. He almost looked at her but couldn’t seem to pick up his head.

When he didn’t answer, she let the weight of her palm press down.

“Creyal?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

Haley watched him. Something was off. Kin falling into drugs wasn’t any more unusual than Humans, but Creyal didn’t act like a Male using drugs to satisfy his needs. Something else was going on.

She could force him. Males expected that kind of thing. Here in the Tank Haley could do what she needed to without worrying who she was going to offend. It was the closest she got to the raw visceral nature of the Dens.

But sometimes it was just nicer to use honey instead.

Haley put her finger up to her mouth and sliced it wide with a quick flash of fang. The sweet taste of her own blood hit her palate. She held her hand out to him, the blood welling up on the end of the already closing wound. Creyal jerked back, his eyes very wide, his face pale. She was offering him blood. Females did not just give blood to Males and most certainly not lesser Males. When he started to shake his head she pushed her finger to his lips. Creyal’s eyes fluttered. He was hesitant at first and then drew her deeper into his mouth. A deep thrum kicked up in his chest. His draw on her skin became desperate as the cut healed. Haley moved her finger over one of his bottom fangs and reopened the wound.

The Male made a pitiful sound and spilled out of the chair in front of her on his knees.

“Talk to me, Creyal, Kin to Kin.” Haley pulled her finger from his mouth and he whimpered. His hands locked onto her calf and he pressed his face against her leg. His whole body shuddered. “I want to know why you’re sticking Alchemy into your body.”

He looked up at her, holding her so tight it was starting to ache. “Because that’s what they pay me to do.” He shut his eyes and stank of shame.

“Who pays you?” His grip tightened, but Haley didn’t react. Lots of things hurt worse than Human hands gripping with abnormal strength. When he didn’t answer she took his chin and made him look her in the eye. “Who pays you to stick poison in your arm and why?”

Creyal shut his eyes. His dark brows collided in the middle of his forehead hard enough to make a furrow. “These people, Humans and an Alchemist.”

“Is it the stuff the cops found on you? In the vial?”

“No.” Creyal pulled away and crawled to the far wall. His spine curved as he pulled himself over his knees. He averted his face and remained still. “The
sythn
is what they pay me with most of the time. The rest is cash.”

“What are they putting in you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t ask. They take out samples as well.” He unfolded an arm and looked at it. It was obvious he didn’t like what he saw but accepted it.

“Where does the synthetic come from?”

“I don’t ask, and they don’t tell.”

“So this gang is run by Humans.”

He shook his head. “It isn’t a gang. These aren’t your usual dealers.”

“Enlighten me.”

Creyal leaned against the wall. He still wouldn’t look at her. “They send word out in the Dens. A place and a time. The first ones who get there get the money and the goods.”

“The synthetic?” Haley asked just to clarify. Creyal nodded. “So where do they meet you?”

“Different places. Usually warehouses. They bring in vans that have equipment. I don’t know what they do. I’m usually too ... you know ... out of it.” He ran a hand over the top of his head, pushing back hair that wasn’t out of place.

“Can you give me any names?”

Creyal shook his head. “Even if I knew who these people were, they’d kill me. The Alchemist is especially scary.” Most were. He looked at his arms. “I used to not ... not do it this much ... but lately they’ve been around more, offering more ... I figured what the hell.” This time he did look up and his eyes were very sad.

Haley bit her lip and willed herself to stay where she was. “Why do you do it?”

“Why do any of us do it? I’ve sold sex. I’ve sold my freedom. What’s a little blood? I need the money. Medan doesn’t exactly give out enough to survive. This is easier than the ... other.” He rubbed his arms like maybe he could erase the track marks.

“Creyal, whatever they’re putting in you is making you sick.”

He shook his head. “Kin don’t get sick.”

“No, we don’t. At least not naturally. But whatever those people are shooting into your arm isn’t worth the money they’re giving you. I can smell it. You’re sick. It’s eating you up from the inside.”

He looked away again and stared at the wall like drab green paint was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Haley said, “There’s a free wellness group run by a Kin named Loren. He meets three times a week with other Kin down at the old YMCA building on Morrison inside the Gray Zone. There’s a meeting tonight, starting at seven. They’ll have free food. Good fresh meat. It’s a small group. They don’t ask you your name. You just go. Talk. Maybe he can help you.”

“What if I don’t want help?” Creyal glared. “Maybe I like what I am, how this,” he held out an arm, “makes me feel.”

“If you like dying, then keep it up. ‘Cause that’s what you smell like, Creyal. Death. A slow kind that sneaks up on you and takes you apart piece by piece.”

He snarled at her. Haley pretended not to notice. When she gave back her attention, his face was normal, Human. Even his tusks had withdrawn.

Creyal flicked his gaze up at her. “If I do that, can I
Belong
to you?”

It was Haley’s turn to act nervous. She hopped off the table edge and fumbled with her blouse. “Creyal, I don’t
own
any Males.”

“None?”

“None.”

His shoulders tightened and he heaved a deep breath. “Why not?” Haley blinked at him. No one had ever asked her before. Not even Farley. It wasn’t normal for a Female to go without a Harem. But it wasn’t a Male’s place to question what a Female did. But now the question was out.

“I...” Haley tried desperately to think of a reason. Any reason. “I just never have. I guess I don’t want one right now.”

“What if you changed your mind?”

“I don’t think that will happen.”

“But if it did.”

“Then ... then I guess I’d need a bigger apartment.” She folded her arms, feeling extremely vulnerable. If Creyal noticed, he didn’t show it.

“If you changed your mind, could I
Belong
to you?” God of Man, there was so much hope in that one question. Creyal looked at his arms. “Sometimes I think if I could
Belong
I wouldn’t want to do this anymore.”

Haley chastised herself for feeling guilty. It wasn’t her job to feel guilty. Hell, it wasn’t even in her biology. Sometimes Human influence could be such a bother. Saving the whales just delayed the inevitable.

What would it hurt?

It’s a lie
.

Not really. She just had to word it right.

“Creyal, you are a beautiful Male. Any Female would be proud to make you theirs.” See, no lie. And by the look on the Male’s face he seemed completely satisfied.

Colonel Dobson didn’t have to show his ID to get through the check points. As he approached, the doors just opened.

Like magic.

Taa-daa.

And he was wanting to taa-daa all over someone’s ass. His sample Zero was gone. Walked right out of his facility. He had the means to pull rank and he could have kept her. With a little bit of work he could have brought her to rage, and then Garrett would have had to let her stay. No ifs, ands, or buts.

But there was more than one way to skin a cat ... er, Kin.

If that pompous-self-righteous-holier-than-thou-Kin-lover was going to refuse Dobson’s requests to promote Haley Night, then he’d find a way to bring her here.

That plan was still in the cooker. In the meantime, she’d fallen right into his lap and he’d missed it.

Dobson fumbled for a cigar. He’d mangled his last one right after they landed. Now he had to make do with cheap substitutes. Rolled out in a sterilized factory, rather than off the sun-warmed thighs of Cuban whores.

Of course, there weren’t many women who weren’t whores in his book. Any of them would fuck you if you paid them enough, promised them enough, or knocked them around.

His own wife had proven that fact. A whore, born from a whore. Filthy bitch. If he’d known what she was, he would have killed her sooner.

Fucking cunt.

But no. She’d lied. They all lie. There wasn’t one out there who didn’t. They all told you they loved you. As if the lying wasn’t bad enough, she had to go and steal from him. Take his hope, his dignity.

And then she took it from his son.

As if squeezing him out of that hole between her legs had given her some kind of entitlement. That was
his
son. His seed built that boy and she’d contaminated him. Now the boy was poisoned, defiled ... impure.

And it was her fault.

When the first signs had manifested back in ’81, they’d taken William to the doctor like any concerned parents would. Back then, the information on Human genetics was grossly limited, let alone the genetics of the monsters.

William was a sophomore in high school. Star quarterback, top ten in his class, a regular hometown hero.

Then the leg pains started. The Whore had wanted to take him to the doctor, saying it wasn’t normal, not at his age. But the boy was still growing. A big fine man he was going to be, too! Tall, like his paternal grandfather. The Whore had insisted there was something wrong. Obviously she was guilt-ridden. She’d known what was coming. She’d known and she didn’t care!

The leg pain didn’t stop and it progressed to other limbs. William had to stop playing football and pretty soon the pain kept him in bed, curled up and weeping like an infant. They’d taken William to the doctor, who had to sedate him to get x-rays. The x-rays had been frightening.

Something was seriously wrong.

The doctors called a staff meeting and they took turns looking at the films. William’s bones were being twisted and broken, right through his muscle. Strange new spurs were forming in various locations as bits and pieces splintered off. They’d given it some fancy name. Osteo-metaphysical-manifestation or some shit.

Then the fever almost killed him.

After three weeks of hospital time, his body had been transformed into a caricature of something Human. The Whore wouldn’t even look at him then. Dobson looked at him. Dobson was not afraid to look his son in the eye, even when he was begging him for death.

And one day the screaming just stopped. William was a mess but he didn’t hurt any more. It was like his body had decided it would take a break. Another set of x-rays showed strange rounded areas in his spine and shoulders, like he’d grown joints for limbs he didn’t have.

The doctors still didn’t know what to make of it. They sent for specialists across the United States. Medical journals wanted to do interviews, and in desperation to help his son, Dobson agreed.

Looking back, it had been the wrong decision.

Not long after the bone changes stopped, William lost his hair. All of it. And it didn’t happen slow. It was like someone had dosed him with a round of chemo. The nurses went in to roll him over and jarred him enough to shake it all loose.

Like a fucking Christmas tree that’d been left in the house till March.

Three days later, his teeth followed the same path his hair took.

Dobson knew then. In his gut he knew. In Beijing he’d seen half-breeds, quarter breeds. The half-breeds were bare of any hair, not even a patch around their nuts for crying out loud. Completely slick, from head to toe, like they’d been taking Nair baths or some shit. And they were always Male.

Then there were the Lesser-Breds. That’s what the wyrms called them. Lesser, because they were mostly Human. As if wyrm blood was somehow better. Lesser-Breds were second generation down or greater from the beast blood.

The quarter breds or less were a little more difficult to spot. They looked Human. Hair, height, freckles and moles. And they could come in both sexes. Unless you caught a look-see at those devil marks they had on their body they could fool you. Some of the birth marks were large and obvious but a few had small ones which were easy to hide.

On occasion, the color of their eyes gave them away.

It seemed the last genes to want to let go would be passed down from any females in the line. The Kin gene equivalent of the X chromosome wouldn’t be turned on in the presence of a Human X chromosome. But pair it with a Y and the switch was flipped.

‘Course it wasn’t the doctors at that backwoods hospital who figured it out. No, sir.

As soon as Dobson realized his son was somehow carrying Kin blood in him, he’d transferred him to a private military facility. The U.S. government owed him the favor. Once there, specialists in metaphysics examined the biological changes happening to William. A team of geneticists was called in for consult.

It was confirmed. William was a Lesser-Bred. The problem genes had traveled down from his mother’s side of the family, attached to the X chromosomes, and now that there was a son in the Female line, they could be expressed.

Dobson took the news straight faced. By the time the white coats were done talking about pleiotropic effects, mobile DNA, sex linked traits, and recessives, he’d made up his mind to turn this problem into a solution.

They didn’t know how long it would take. But William wasn’t going to be William for much longer. Apparently, the further removed from the Kin sire, the more unstable the genes became. Results were, to say in the least, unpredictable.