City of Dragons: Of Flesh and Blood (44 page)

Man, some days, Haley really hated being right.

Farley blinked and lifted a hand to block out the scalding water slapping him in the side of the face.

“Be still.” A large hand braced him at the back of the neck. Another worked the faucet handle almost made invisible in the steam.

Farley recognized the voice and the scent. The Dominant from the club, Lor. He looked up. Way up. Son of a bitch looked even bigger in the light.

Yellow eyes flicked down on him and one of those shovel-like mitts petted Farley’s cheeks.

“You’re all right now.”

“What…” Damn, he sounded like shit. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

Did he? Uh, no.

“It’s the collar. You’re not used to it yet. You passed out.”

Great. Like that was remotely reassuring.

“Can you hold yourself up now?”

Farley propped his elbows on either side of the tub and leaned forward. Well, at least he had the strength to do that. “I feel like shit.”

“That’s because you need to eat.”

“I just
fed
.”

“And the collar ate up your resources adjusting to you. It knows you now. It won’t leach you dry again.”

And that, yeah that wasn’t reassuring either.

“The refrigerator is stocked. Make sure you eat as much as you can as soon as you can. Heikman will be back soon and he’ll expect you to
feed
him.”

“Yeah, and why the hell don’t you
feed
him?”

Lor made a face and stood up. “When you feel like getting out, there are clothes in your bedroom.”

Farley growled and pegged the Male with a glare. “I don’t live here.”

The Dominant blinked once. Slow. “You do now.” He paused at the door.

“Just so you know, I broke his neck first.”

Farley looked at him. “What?”

“Your friend. Paul. I broke his neck first so he wouldn’t hurt.”

What Farley wanted to tell Lor was Paul wasn’t his friend, but then thought better of it. Instead he said, “Thanks. For everything else too.” Meaning the shower and carrying him to it. Lor gave a grunt and walked out.

Farley sat under the scalding shower for a while, wondering how long it would take Garrett to figure out what happened. Not that it mattered. After all, this was a no-return trip. He’d been warned. And of course his cocky-assed self just had to prove he could do it.

Yeah, Farley had seriously overshot his ability this time, but who could have known Heikman was some freak of nature Lesser-Bred-Alchemist? That scenario wasn’t even a blip on the intellectual radar.

It only took one try to stand up, and being upright made Farley feel all the more better. He looked for the soap but could only find a selection of body wash hanging on a rack under one of the shower heads. Every one of them was some form of strawberry, strawberry crème, strawberry oatmeal, and strawberry desire. Yeah, he so did not choose that one.

Considering Farley smelled like Alchemy--which stank like three day old ground beef left in the back of a hot car--strawberries or not, he had to get the reek out of his skin even if it meant taking sand paper to it. By the time the smell was gone, his fingers were pruning and his arms were almost blistered from the heat. Farley cut the water off, grabbed a towel from the overhead rack, and stepped out of the tub.

How the hell was he going to get out of this? As if getting out was even a possibility.

The thought of dying lasted for all of thirty seconds. Goddamn it, he was not going to fold up shop here. After all, he’d survived the hatching grounds and Darco. This was no different. And if he was good at anything, it was turning the
need,
and Heikman was obviously enough Kin that it controlled him just like it did the rest of them. It was just going to be a matter of getting around all the twitchy Alchemy junking up his instincts. If Farley could do that, he could keep control of the
feedings
until he got a chance to get the upper hand. Hell, if he could flood the SOB with enough of his scent, he could own him like an addict.

First things first. Farley wanted to get a better look at the piece of hardware around his neck. It wasn’t as if he actually knew jack shit about Alchemy, other than the crap could fry his ass, suck him dry of resources, or make him as weak as kitten. Dragons had an innate fear of the stuff. After all, they lived a lot longer if they avoided it.

The only thing worse than an Alchemist and Magic was a Wizard and Magic and thank God those SOBs were going the way of the dodo bird.

Farley wiped the mirror with a second towel and eyed the one-inch band running around his throat. With both hands he felt for latches or clasps. There were none, but this was a piece of Alchemy. Those sort of things didn’t open and close by standard means. Script was etched into the surface but he couldn’t read it. Knowing his luck, probably something along the lines of,
caution highly flammable
, or
pull pin and throw
.

He gave it an experimental tug and the thing got hot. Fantastic. Came complete with a hair trigger.

Farley’s stomach growled, reminding him of priority number two. So he went out into the bedroom in search of clothes. It was bigger than his apartment but pretty bare on furniture. The walls were an expanse of white and the carpet was gray. There was a bed, a bedside table, a chair, and a dresser.

The cameras in the corners did not surprise him at all.

Farley found the clothes in the dresser. There were black cotton scrubs in the first two drawers, black button ups in the second two.

Everything was cut small, probably because it’s what Heikman liked, but he still had to tighten the draw strings on the cotton pants and the freaking legs wadded up around his ankles like deflated tube socks. At least they were comfortable. Sometimes being this slight of frame had its downside. Like trying to find something to wear outside of the boy’s section.

Lucky for Farley, he wore mostly skaters and T-shirts which were readily available at just about any Emo-goth-punk shop. And considering that crowd avoided food like they did sunlight it was z’all good.

For some messed-up reason, that made him think of Haley, and that in turn made his chest hurt. Yeah, he should have called her today. Farley rubbed the scar on his shoulder, wishing the barriers keeping her from feeling him weren’t there. What he wouldn’t give to put his face in her neck right now.

His stomach growled again.

“Yeah, yeah…I get the message.” He went into the living area and caught a quick look at the flat screen TV eating up most of the back wall.

Out of curiosity Farley tried the front door and was surprised to find it unlocked. He pulled it open to do a quick look-see. At the end of the corridor stood two suits. They weren’t close enough for him to sniff out any firearms but it was safe to bet they were packing. One of them turned his head and looked at him.

Yeah. He’d have about as much of a chance getting past those two without getting shot as he would flying by flapping his arms. If he didn’t have the collar on he could have taken them out. But as it was, he’d probably go up in a puff of smoke before he could even flash chelae.

Fine, he was stuck. At least for now.

Farley went to the fridge and yanked it open. The first thing he grabbed was the gallon of milk sitting on the top shelf, and he downed half of it in one go. There was a bowl of meat below it. He pulled it out and sniffed. Smelled fresh. He put the milk back and dug in, not tasting any of it. There were more important things to think about than what was landing in his stomach. Such as a suitable place to leave the send-receive device.

There was a phone jack in the floor near the fridge. Minus the phone of course. Not like Heikman would want his guests to reach out and touch someone. Farley glanced over his shoulder and scanned for cameras. Nothing in here. Perfect.

Feeling all Casino Royale, Farley grabbed a butter knife out of the silverware drawer and crouched on the floor. With a few quick turns he popped the screws out and the plate came off. The colored wires were exposed behind the jack. Farley pulled the earring out. His small fingers were the only reason he was able to fit the thing into the opening so he could pierce the connector.

A red dot lit up at the tip, letting him know he’d made a good connection.

One down, one to go.

Now, if only getting out of here would be as easy.

Of course if he was really as good as 007 he’d be able to figure out a way to the laundry area. Farley eyed the vents. They were definitely a possibility. But the fit was going to be tight, even for him, and he had no idea what floor he was on because the room didn’t have windows.

No, the best thing for now was to watch and wait. A place like this worked on a schedule. At some point someone would be in here to do general housekeeping, guards would change, someone would come in to stock the fridge. Plenty of opportunity for mistakes to be made.

Farley tossed the knife into the sink and retrieved his dish from the counter. He carried the bowl of meat into the living room, climbed over the back of the sofa and plopped his ass down on the brick of a seat.

Might as well enjoy the view.

It took him a few tries to figure out which button on the universal would turn on the big screen, and then another test of point and clicks to figure out which one changed the channel. Everything that popped up was some variation of HBO or ShowTime.

Farley let it stop at random and sat back, popping bits of cut beef like popped corn. What do you know? One of his favorite movies happened to be on. And it struck Farley as totally poetic that it was good ole’ Bruce in Die Hard.

It was getting dark by the time Maze left. Outside the wall-to-ceiling windows, Athens lit up, turning the stretch of dark historic city aglow with points of warmth.

Christmas would be in a couple of weeks, which was hard to believe. It just didn’t feel like December to Orin. Maybe it was because between media and retail stores, the sensory overload had left him immune. And considering how Christmas was supposed to be about good cheer and happiness, the week’s trend for the ugly and cruel wasn’t helping either.

Orin stood up from his seat at the table. “I’m going to take a shower.” He headed towards his room but stopped, turned and came back to where Haley was standing. “Give me a few minutes. Let me…get my head in order…then…we’ll…you know.”

She smiled. “Sure.”

Head in order? Orin shut his bedroom door. How fucking lame.

Problem was, he did seriously need to get his head in order. After all the pissed-off had worn away about being interrupted, Orin realized just how close the RHage had come to showing its ugly head, and yet he’d held it down.

So why the hell did his stomach feel like a blender on high?

Because it opened doors he didn’t want to look into. Like that one marked with three foot tall letters spelling out INSTINCT, or maybe the one to the left that said NEED.

The bathroom door snicked when he shut it and Orin leaned against it, staring at the shower. He didn’t want to turn it on, because it would mean getting in it, getting wet, and washing off all Haley’s scent. And damn him, he wanted to keep it on his skin. Wear it like a goddamned badge of honor.

You’re losing your fucking mind.

More like going home, to that place where Females owned and controlled him, an addiction which made it impossible to function without them.

This isn’t the same thing as Serena.
And Orin almost believed it.

Orin pulled himself from the door and undressed. He dropped the fancy Italian shirt with its unpronounceable name on the floor and reached over and turned on the shower, letting the water heat up. When he tested the temp with his fingers he was disappointed because it wasn’t nearly hot enough. Not like Haley.

Addiction or not, he had to have Haley now, and telling himself it was about getting her to Roll him to get rid of the RHage was utter bullshit. The fact was, no matter how Human he wanted to be, he was Kin. And no matter how much he hated himself he couldn’t change it.

There was a fresh stack of towels on the sink. Room service had apparently restocked them when they replaced the mattress. But what caught Orin’s attention was the small box with a bow lying beside the washcloths. Orin picked it up and gave the thing a shake. Whatever it was it clanked around. He opened the top and stared a moment.

Glasses.

He smiled a little. Damn. He really missed his collection. Almost as much as he missed the cat.

Orin flipped them over in his hand, wondering when Haley had gotten them. Then it occurred to him these were probably a gift from Deshi. The Male was always doing things like that. He almost put them down but they were Gucci. Wow. Nice. Really nice. How many pair did this give him now? Didn’t matter because there was no such thing as too many.

Yeah, he’d have to thank Deshi. What was it he collected again? Smurfs…did they still make those things? If not there was always Ebay. Orin looked back at the shower, thinking the hotel must have cranked up the heat on the hot water heater because it was sure getting toasty in here.

Orin put the glasses back in the box and that’s when he noticed the oil on his thumbs. Shaking his head, he picked the glasses back up and held them under the light. He ran his finger along the ear piece, rubbed them together, then sniffed it. Mineral oil. That was odd.

He turned his hand and his fingertips glinted gold. Fear froze Orin where he stood.

It only took a drop, a miniscule amount really.

Stupid! So fucking stupid! It was one of the oldest tricks in the book on preserving the stuff. Temporal fluid, secreted by the temple gland of a Female, was useless minutes after exposure to air, except when preserved with mineral oil.

Orin whirled, throwing his hands under the spray of the shower, fumbled for soap and tried to wash it off his skin. He kept scrubbing even though he knew it was too late. He’d touched it. A blow torch wouldn’t get the shit off of him now. Speaking of which, that’s exactly what it felt like firing up under his skin.