Prologue

Barbary Coast, San Francisco

1901

 

Harry watched dispassionately as Alex snapped the neck of one of Dracul’s human minions. The man had sealed his own fate the moment he’d volunteered to do his master’s vicious bidding. Harry felt nothing but contempt for the vile criminal. As the corpse slunk to the floor, Harry eyed the back staircase leading to the third floor of the brothel.

“Alex, I will go up to see who is sequestered there and render what aid I can.” He lifted the doctor’s bag he held in emphasis. “Then I—or we, if the poor soul is willing—shall meet you out back.”

His leader approached, his gaze roaming the narrow corridor in search of unexpected danger. “We’ll go together.”

Harry put his free hand on the hilt of the dagger sheathed on his belt. It had been a gift from an Ottoman prince and it was one of his most prized possessions. He knew well how to use it. “You have more important matters to attend to. It is still possible that Dracul’s brat remains on the premises. He’s stupid enough to grab his ill-gotten gold before fleeing.”

“Val will see to that. And, I am curious as to what lies upstairs as much as you are.”

Harry believed that claim. They’d been surveilling this place for weeks before attacking. The nature of the small third floor remained a mystery. Its use was sporadic compared to the rest of the saloon and whorehouse. Whoever lurked there was either dangerous or precious, perhaps both. The rest of the building was rife with all manner of enslaved women, drugs and alcohol, all visibly available without concern that the local police would bother to intervene. Dracul’s business was hardly unique in the city, yet, because it was his, Alex felt compelled to shut it down. Anything they could do to strangle Dracul’s sources of income was all to the good.

Harry also knew that Alex was not in a mood for discussion, so he simply replied, “Please allow me to go first. If there is a hurt human there, they will find me less…shall we say intimidating?”

Alex nodded once. “Very well. Have a care, though.”

“Of course.”

Harry didn’t hesitate to proceed. While he’d chosen to adopt a care-taking role in their new life, he was still a trained warrior. He could fight and kill when necessary. Somehow, he doubted that it would be. As he climbed the steep, tight stairway, he felt a strange sense of what humans would call destiny. Something, or someone, called silently to him.

He paused only a second at the wooden door that he wasn’t surprised to find padlocked on the outside. Whoever resided behind it was a prisoner more so than the other lost souls housed within Dracul’s den of iniquities. Harry crushed the lock with a quick squeeze before he steeled himself to go in.

He stood on the threshold of a single, sparsely yet richly appointed bedroom. A thick oriental carpet and silk brocade wall hangings caught his attention first before a quick movement forced his gaze to the far end. An adolescent boy slid off the bed in a graceful movement to stand with head bowed. His curtain of dark hair hid his face, but Harry had seen enough in that quick moment to know he was the most exquisite thing in the room. And of course, that explained everything. Even in the notorious vice-ridden Barbary Coast, availing oneself of the pleasure of a boy prostitute would be a shameful thing. Only the richest, most daring of men would do so. And it would have to be well-hidden from prying eyes.

The inhabitant stood mutely, undoubtedly waiting for orders as he’d been trained to do. He wore only a long, red-silk robe that hung open. His slender and perfect body was on display. It was too much to see, especially given his young age. No longer a child, yet not quite full grown, he shouldn’t be an object of sexual desire. Harry felt ashamed to have even glimpsed as much as he had.

He turned in a futile effort to block Alex from seeing. “Please, leave this to me, sir.” He kept his voice low so as to not scare the boy any more than they had already.

Of course, Alex had viewed everything, being taller than Harry and more of a warrior. He would have taken in every detail with a single glance, and that’s why he didn’t argue about going. “I will leave this to you, Harry. We’ll make sure the building is cleared. Don’t worry about danger when you come to join us outside. Give me your bag, so that you’ll be able to carry him with ease.”

Harry didn’t hesitate to do as ordered. There was no question in his mind that he would be bringing the boy with him. And as Alex had already surmised, there was likely nothing for the boy to wear other than his robe. Those delicate feet shouldn’t be forced to walk in the cold muck of San Francisco’s streets.

Once Alex had left, Harry turned back to the boy. He hadn’t moved an inch, but he wasn’t completely still. His fingers plucked nervously at the robe and his heart beat rapidly. Harry focused on that bird-like flutter, while he inhaled the boy’s scent. Underneath the acrid smell of fear was a sweetness that caused Harry’s own blood to heat. He tamped down the sexual reaction but vowed that he would patiently wait for the right time to show his instant devotion to this irresistible creature. In all the years they’d been marooned, no human had ever compelled him this way.

He took a slow step forward. “It’s all right. No need to be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

The boy flashed his dark eyes at him for a split second before lowering them again. In that moment, Harry saw the disbelief. This boy had no reason to trust. “How may I please you?” he offered.

That voice, so soft and melodious in perfect, clipped English, sent a shiver along Harry’s nerves. He swallowed hard in reaction before whipping off his coat. “There’ll be none of that. Put this on,” he added, approaching the boy slowly so as not to scare him even more. “It’s cold outside.” He held the coat in front of the boy until he reached for it with his small, trembling hand. “I’m going to carry you to protect your feet and take you away from here. You are safe with me.”

Again that flashing look that broke Harry’s heart with its hopeless cynicism. The boy’s reticence led to Harry helping him. Harry was careful to touch as little of the human as possible, buttoning the coat to provide some privacy. No one would ever again see anything the boy didn’t freely show.

“What is your name?” he asked, determined to give this former slave of Dracul’s as much dignity as he could. Thinking of him as merely a boy made him into an object, instead of a person.

There was an audible swallow. The pulse at the base of the human’s throat pulsed rapidly. “L-Lucien, Master.”

That brief hesitation, as if saying his own name was somehow foreign to him, sent Harry’s heart tumbling even further. He knew in that instant that no matter what, he would dedicate his life to protecting Lucien and giving him everything he wanted.

First, though, he had to take him away to safety. Scooping him up in his arms, he said, “Master will do for now, but I’d prefer that you call me Harry.”

Lucien gasped and stiffened for a second or two before relaxing into Harry’s embrace. Then he did an extraordinary thing. He lay his head against Harry’s shoulder and sighed. It was a sound of utter peace, and that simple and inexplicable show of trust sealed Harry’s resolve.

Someday, he hoped Lucien would call him husband.