This story is inspired by two stories I wrote called “Angel of Death”, and “Holding out for a Hero”. Where there might be some plot threads shared with the two other stories. This is a completely new story for the M7 Feral AU, and is primarily a Chris, Vin, Ezra and Buck story.
The following is a work of fan fiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp, or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters and settings. The Sentinel copyright is held by Paramount and Pet Fly Productions.
Special thanks to Texas Aries for your great pictures and your support in writing this story and to Sarah L, my hard working beta reader, without you there wouldn't have been a story. Any errors are mine.
Thanks to Mog for giving me permission to use her ATF world. The idea of the Guilds is inspired by all the Terry Pratchett books.
Warning for adult language, adult situations and m/m sex and sexual Sentinel bonding. (C/V), (C/V/E), (B/E).
This Au is open
NOTE: This story was previously hosted at another website and was moved to blackraptor in May 2014
Part One
In the near future, with law and order overwhelmed and no longer able to protect the population, a radical solution was found. The secret Guilds were invited to become public; all crime would be governed by the guilds, with each person paying the guild a fee for membership and a percentage of their take. The Guilds then ruthlessly began to track down and deal with anyone that refused to join.
The most sinister of the Guilds was the Assassin's Guild, which set out to eradicate any freelance hit men, seeing them as street trash, unlike the Guild-trained Assassins.
Some cities allowed the Assassin's Guild free reign, not even trying to catch them, but others, like Denver, had decided that no longer would Assassin kills be seen as legal killings. They would be hunted down no differently than any other murderer, just as the Thieves Guild would be treated as no different to any free lance thief. For that reason, these cities now had a Senior Judge of the Dark, and a Senior Judge of the Light; the Dark dealt with Guild crimes, the Light, ordinary crimes.
The previous Judge of the Dark from Denver was Wallace Mason; he had been more than happy - given the right amount of money - to turn a blind eye to what Alan Holland was doing.
Holland was a non-Guild Crime Lord, who had gained control of the local Guilds through bribery and violence. He sat at the middle of his Empire like a giant bloated spider. He ran the Guilds ruthlessly, but he made money from running whores and killers from outside the guilds; people he could black mail because if their names were released to the Guilds, they would be tracked down and killed.
These people, unable to flee the city due to lacking the documentation needed to move to a new one, were virtual slaves. When they got too used up, he would just have them killed and it appealed to his warped sense of humour that he would actually be thanked by the Guild for his diligence.
0-0-0-0-0
Washington DC
FBI Agent Buck Wilmington sat at the back of the lecture theatre as Dr Kenneth Cameron started his talk. Although young, Cameron was regarded as the top authority on sentinels.
Dr Cameron's eyes swept over the sea of faces in front of him.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the first of six lectures on the place of Sentinel and Guides in society. The purpose of these lectures is to try and address the cultural misunderstandings that exist, particularly towards the role of the Companion.
The Sentinel phenomenon has been known about for at least 100 years, as men appeared with an enhanced sense of sight, smell, hearing, touch and taste. It was soon found that a sentinel, when using his senses, could fall into a coma-like state - what we call a zone out - if they stretch their ability too far. It was then found that what a Sentinel needed to anchor them, was a guide.
A guide is someone with empathic ability, but given the close physical relationship needed by a guide to anchor the sentinel, only female guides were considered to be morally acceptable. As sentinels formed Clans in the towns and cities, they began to vie for the right to claim a guide and there were bloody battles. In the end, it was decided that all empathy would be brought under the control of the Government; each empath would be evaluated and graded on their ability, but there has never been enough female guides to allow each Sentinel to have one each. As we understood more about the Sentinel / Guide dynamic, we realised that Clans actually could function with a small group Guide, who would balance the whole Clan. These Guides would be akin to what the Romans called ‘Vestal Virgins'; they keep the Sentinels balanced and they are considered to be pure and untouched. Many Clans will not let outsiders even see them. They are revered by the Clan and the quickest way to get torn apart is to slander their Guide.”
Dr Cameron paused. As no questions were raised, he continued; “Before a Guide becomes a Guide, they are called a Companion. The Companions work for the Government at the Harmony Houses, helping visiting or non-Clan Sentinels to control their senses. Now, Companions each have a price that the Clan has to pay in order to acquire them. This is NOT selling the Companion into slavery; because of the amount of money exchanged when the Clan purchase the Companion's contract, they undertake to protect and cherish their new Guide. The contract contains the conditions under which the Companion will enter the Clan and is often so complex that it is considered a specialised legal field. Only then is a Companion a Guide. Honoured is their calling,” Cameron said with reverence.
The Sentinels in the audience echoed the words. “Honoured is their calling.”
Buck watched as a hand went up, waving to attract Dr Cameron's attention.
“Sir, I am not sure how to ask, but isn't a Harmony House just another name for a brothel?”
“Certainly not,” Dr Cameron said with venom.
“Harmony Houses were created as places where visiting Sentinels could meet and pay for Companions, where they can relax their senses in a controlled environment; a place where young Sentinels can learn to bond without fear of injuring their Clan Guides. To prevent a Companion from bonding, they take injections to block the natural secretions that would trigger a Sentinel to bond. Now, the block is expensive and a Companion has to use it every day; the more powerful the empath, the larger the dosage. This has to be paid for, hence the fact that Companions are charged for by each visiting Sentinel and thus the misconceived idea of Companion prostitution. Depending on the Companion, the rate can range from $500 to $1000 for the highest rated max 10 empathic Companion . Companions, I must stress, are decent, highly intelligent people and it is always a great joy when a Companion is united with their future Sentinel.”
“Yes, Mr Evans.” Dr Cameron pointed to one of the students.
“You said that all Companions are female; why then do the Harmony Houses have male Companions?” Evans gave his friends a leer.
“Male Companions cannot be taken as Guides, so they work exclusively as Companions. A Sentinel can often be nervous about a mock bonding with a female Companion. They have been brought up honouring their Clan Guides, so a male Companion can be used without the emotional attachment that they might form with a female. Also, a young Sentinel can lose control and we would not wish to inflict that upon a female. Honoured is their Calling.”
“Honoured is their calling.” The words were parroted back to Dr Cameron.
“With a male Companion, he is better able to handle an out of control Sentinel and many Sentinels prefer them for that very reason. They can let their hair down with them. A male Companion can have regular customers; some are visiting businessmen, others visit regularly until they are able to bond with the Clan Guides, some Sentinels never feel the need or calling of a Clan and therefore the Companion becomes a proxy Guide to them, often spoiling them, even paying off their contracts, making them what is called “Special Reserved Stock”. When this happens, the Companion will disappear into the home of the Sentinel and will never again be seen in public. Now, do you have any questions?”
Buck let the rest of the lecture wash over him; he had attended because he was going to have to make contact with one of these Companions in the course of his next assignment and wanted to know what to expect.
Agent Wilmington was a tall man in his mid to late thirties, with a friendly, jovial nature and a ready smile. He had been an Agent for 10 years and was a Gamma Sentinel; his senses were not strong enough to make him need a Guide. He had never joined one of the large Clans; the nearest he had gotten to a Clan was when a close friend had married and started a family. Buck had taken the role of Gamma, normally third in the hierarchy of the Clan, after the Alpha and the Beta, who would nurture the younger Sentinels and protect the Guide. But all that had been tragically taken away from him when they had been murdered. Now he had landed this mission, taking him to Denver and the Denver Harmony House.
0-0-0-0-0
Denver
The Night Lite Club
Alan Holland threw the newspaper down on his desk in disgust. First the Assassin's Guild, then by April it would be the Thieves Guild and he knew that the Moral Crusade was already lobbying for the Whores Guild to be made illegal. He leaned back in his chair and hit the intercom. “Have George come through.”
George Fallon was older than his boss. A powerfully built man, he worked as Holland's enforcer and it was a job he liked. He got paid well and there were the fringe benefits, such as the two young whores that had been sharing his bed last night, pathetically humiliating themselves to keep him happy and avoid a thrashing.
Tonight he had a taste for something more hardy and muscular but with a hot body and an ass to die for. He was just about to press the speed dial and order this tasty morsel when he was called through. The discussion with the Boss took longer than he had thought and it kept returning to the one thorn in Holland's flesh: Senior Judge Travis. Unlike Mason, the Judge was not corrupt.
In the end, there was only one course to take. The Judge had to be killed; it would send out a signal to everyone that the Guilds were not the force in Denver that his organisation was. In living memory, no Senior Judge of the Dark had ever been murdered. George ran a hand nervously over his bald head as if smoothing back non-existent hair.
“Alan, are you sure about this?”
Holland had an ego the size of Texas and wasn't going to back down. “You find me an assassin and arrange for me to see him face to face.” He put a hand up. “I know, distance myself from the hit, but I am not trusting anyone else. The fewer people who know about this, the better, okay?”
“Okay,” Fallon said reluctantly, his mind racing to come up with a name.
0-0-0-0-0
Later, Fallon sat behind his desk, his gaze resting on the young, dark-haired man whose fingers were flying over the computer keys as he expertly hacked the Assassin's Guild computers. What he wanted was someone good.
“Hell, JD, it doesn't even have to be a Guild member.”
“I've got someone, Mr Fallon.”
Fallon got out of his chair and leaned over the young man's shoulder, one hand resting on it, his fingers tightening and then relaxing, enjoying the shudder that ran through the young man.
“So, who do you have, JD?”
“The, the Angel of Death. He's a hit-man, not an Assassin; a weapons specialist. He is active.”
“You've done well, JD.” He let his hand slip to caress the young man's neck, just above his collar, his grin widening as he flinched under his touch.
“Don't worry, JD, your ass is safe.” Fallon moved back to sit behind his desk, enjoying the blush that infused across the young man's face. “Holland values your IT skills too highly for the moment.” He let the veiled threat hang in the air. Just as JD was hurrying out of the door he called to him. “JD, have Mark send Divinity up.”
“Err, Mr Fallon, Divinity is off site at the moment, he's got a...” JD trailed off.
“Speak up, kid. So he's getting his ass fucked. God, kid, you've been working here for four months and you're still like a virgin in a whorehouse. So, who's he screwing?”
“He's got a group booking at the Apollo Hotel. Twelve Sentinels, Sir, he's been booked for the next five days. Whilst they're in town.”
“Damn. Okay, send Honey and Ruth up.”
“Sir.” JD bolted from the room and then leaned against the door, trying to get his breathing under control. He forced himself to remember that in 2 months time he would have enough information on Holland for them to close the man down once and fore all. Then, he would be free of the undercover assignment. JD was scared the only way he could function was to believe the one day it would all be over.
0-0-0-0-0
Seven Days Later
8.00 am The Night Lite Club - Holland's Private Apartment.
Holland took a drink of his imported whiskey as the naked, lithe, young man stood in front of him and finished tying his Master's tie, then moved gracefully to the wardrobe. He pulled a waistcoat off the coat-hanger and then returned to help his Master put it on. In the full-length dressing mirror Holland admired his prize.
At 27, the young man called Divinity was good looking with long hair and the most amazing blue eyes. Although slender, his body had a good muscular tone to it. The perfection was marred by several whip marks across his back and buttocks and finger-shaped bruising on his hips, but to Holland they just made the young man all the more appealing, as he had been the one to put them there.
Only when he was helped on with his expensive jacket did Holland consider what he was going to do with his toy while he was in his meeting. A smile touched his lips as he ordered him to find Fallon, knowing that the young man hated his second in command and his associates, because he was one of their favourite pastimes. As Divinity reached for his jeans, Holland grinned.
“Go as you are, Toy, I am sure Fallon won't mind.” The blue eyes flared with a hatred that nearly took Holland's breath away, but the next second it was gone. He would have liked to have punished his Toy for that show of defiance and licked his lips at the thought of having the beautiful body bent down over a chair. But, reluctantly, he pushed that thought aside. Pleasure for the moment had to be put on hold. He turned his attention to the business at hand.
Holland strode down the corridor, his Toy now forgotten. If he were ever honest with himself, he would have admitted that the man he was to meet scared him.
The Angel of Death was a hit-man; a cold-blooded killer who had killed the old, disgraced assassin that had mentored him. He alone dared to take contracts under the nose of the Assassin's Guild. That was the man that Holland wanted and was prepared to pay to get.
Dealing with someone like the Angel of Death, Holland knew that he had to appear strong. Opening the drawer he pulled out a bottle of beta blockers and swallowed a couple down. It was said that the Angel of Death was a Sentinel and Holland couldn't afford for the Angel to hear his rapid heartbeat, or see his hand tremble. Even so, he jumped as the intercom buzzed and he was told; “Mr Garrison is here to see you, sir.”
“Send him through,” Holland said, briskly.
Holland got to his feet to greet his visitor. Garrison's lean frame was immaculately dressed all in black; a long black coat flared as he walked and Holland could understand where he got his working name from. If anyone was the Angel of Death in person, it was this man. The hit-man had dark, dirty blond hair and he was good looking, but his green eyes were arctic cold. You didn't have to know he was a hit-man to know that this was a dangerous individual.
“Mr Garrison?”
“That name will do as well as any other, for the moment,” was the icy reply. Garrison's smile was one of a predator and Holland had to fight a shudder as he could no longer meet the burning green eyes.
“You wanted to see me, Holland?” The hit-man's voice dropped to a low and menacing growl. His green eyes pinned the flabby, pasty-faced Holland to his chair.
"Always to the point, Garrison, or so I've heard. I have a personal contract for you. A local Judge is causing me a few problems." Holland paused. "His name's Orin Travis.”
Garrison inhaled and his eyes fixed on Holland, his head tilting slightly as he inhaled again.
The scent was coming from the crime boss, Garrison was almost sure.
Then he paused, as he realised that Holland was expecting a reply.
"I don't kill Judges of the Dark, Holland. I am not keen to commit suicide.” Another sniff and he knew that the scent was not Holland's but was only on his clothing. It was a scent that called to him, causing the blood to sing in his veins. “What are you offering?”
“Two million dollars, Garrison, enough for you to retire with.”
Garrison viewed Alan Holland levelly. “Money, I have enough of. Ask the Guild of Bankers.”
“Then how can I sweeten the deal?”
Garrison was suddenly in front of him, those green eyes flashing with a liquid fire. Holland took a quick breath as the flare in them mirrored the one he had seen fleetingly in Divinity's eyes. Holland forced himself to remain still; Sentinels were over-sensed freaks, but they had their uses. Garrison inhaled and suddenly the green eyes flared with an unholy light.
“I want him.”
“Who?”
“The one whose scent you wear.” He inhaled again. “I want him, mine and only mine.” The last word was growled low and deep in his throat.
Holland nodded. “Sure, he's a beta Sentinel, a real good fuck. I can recommend him personally; he's as hot as they come with an ass that don't quit and he can suck cock like it's candy.”
For some reason, Holland found himself wanting to sell Divinity to this guy, anything to get him out of his face.
“Just finished having him and he's the sweetest fuck you're likely to find. He likes it hard and rough and he's a great favourite with the clients.”
Garrison leered. “Add him to the pot and you have a deal.” He paused to light one of his habitual cheroots. “Does he have a name?”
“Whatever you want to call him.”
“His name.” The words were short and sharp, like a slap round the face.
“His name is Divinity. I could have traded his ass for $25,000 to any brothel on Lincoln Street. He works out of my club most nights; he's a nice treat for my special customers, in particular, Sentinels. They like the taste of him and get a great rush out of the whole Alpha Male, Beta Male Shit.”
He smirked, expecting some comment from the hit-man but when the expression turned even colder, he found himself babbling. “Not that there is anything wrong with that... Err, he can be a handful, and he's got an attitude that's not to everyone's taste, but, shit, you can gag him if that's a problem. Could even send him with a few toys, spice things up a bit. Fallon and the boys took him through a few training sessions. Like I said, if you like it rough, he can take it. If you want to knock him around, enjoy yourself, he'll crawl back to you on his belly and kiss your feet and beg for more, anything to please.”
Garrison didn't comment on it. Suddenly, he spun on his heel and stalked out of the room. Holland followed, waving off his bodyguard as he rushed to keep up with the hit-man. The door almost came off the hinges of Fallon's office as Garrison came in, his long black coat flaring around him. The scent of the man he hunted was thick in the room, along with the musky scent of sex and blood.
The source of the scent he hunted was kneeling on the floor, his head in the lap of one of Fallon's men, the man's hand in the long hair, keeping his face trapped as he thrust into the Toy's mouth.
The men in the room started, but Holland waved them down.
All Garrison could see was the blood running down the young man's back and buttocks from a dozen, thin lash marks that someone had laid on him.
Garrison's hand moved fast and in a heartbeat his gun was in his hand. Before any of them could react, a bullet took the seated man's head off, splattering the Toy in his blood and brains.
No one moved.
The Toy sat back on his heels, brushed a hand across his mouth and wiped the blood from his eyes. He turned around and blue and green eyes met for the first time. A light ignited in them and it was as if the two men were mainlining electricity. Slowly, the Toy got to his feet with a graceful move that ignored the pain radiating from his body, his eyes fixed only on that of Garrison.
He closed the distance between them, his eyes locked on and never leaving the Angel of Death. Garrison put a hand out, his fingertips stroking down the strong, handsome face, and a smile twitched at his lips. His hand dropped to the younger man's hip and he pulled him closer, his hand overlaying the bruises that Holland had left on the smooth skin.
He scented at the Toy's throat.
Frankie moved from where he had been standing, the whip still in his hand from where he had been using it on the Toy, ‘encouraging' him as he used his talented mouth to bring the other man off. Garrison lifted his gun until it was targeted at Frankie's head, only to have the Toy's hand reach out and run along the outstretched arm, pressing it down. Garrison smiled and placed the gun into the Toy's hand.
Frankie let out a sigh of relief. He didn't know who the guy in black was, but he had been allowed to kill Marty without anyone lifting a finger to stop him.
The Toy leaned in and nuzzled at Garrison's throat. Holland saw the Toy's mouth move as he spoke, but no voice was heard. Garrison nodded, then the Toy's hand came up sharply and he fired, double tapping two bullets through Frankie's mouth. Then, he lowered the gun, smiled up at his Alpha and handed the gun back.
Garrison pulled him close, his arm stroking from hip to waist reassuring the younger man. He was pleased with the man that he now considered his soul mate and proud of the professional way he had killed the whip man; with two shots to the mouth, smashing the nervous system, something only a trained killer could do, especially so fast and so effortlessly.
Turning with his mate pressed against him, Garrison said, “Mine, Holland, deduct the money from my fee. Come on, pup.” He led the Toy out.
Fallon spoke for the first time.
“What the fuck was that?” He waved at his two dead men.
“How the hell do I know? Get rid of them and get JD up here, I want him looking into Divinity. Check him out again; that kill wasn't luck, I want to know who the hell we've been fucking for the last year.”
0-0-0-0-0
Once outside of the room, Garrison stripped off his long black coat and helped his soul mate into it. “Get your stuff, you're leaving.”
“Divinity.”
Chris said the name Sentinel-soft and the young man turned, hesitated for a fraction of a second until he was waved on and only then did he carry on walking, followed by his new owner.
Chris was thoughtful. The hooker was a Sentinel and as a Predator Sentinel, Chris was the strongest and darkest of his kind. He usually felt nothing but hostility for other Sentinels, but all he could feel for the younger man was a need to own him, mark him and protect him. It had been Divinity's scent that had drawn him to the room; the moment their eyes had met he had seen and felt the heat as the blue eyes had ignited into a living flame. Recognising the Feral Sentinel in him, a Sentinel just as dangerous as himself, his only true mate. Then, the heat was gone, as if a shutter had been thrown up and he had known then that his mate was hurting in mind as well as body.
It had taken all of his will power not to take the gun back and empty it into Holland's guts.
The younger man took him up a flight of stairs to the next level; the bedroom was only large enough for a closet, bed and a hand basin. Without any embarrassment, Divinity removed the long, black coat and handed it to Chris and then pulled out a pair of jeans, going commando. He shrugged into a shirt and then slipped on a pair of shoes and a battered, old leather jacket.
Quickly, he filled a backpack with his clothes and scant belongings and then removed a battered box from the bottom of the closet. The old cardboard gave way and the sex toys fell on the floor. Divinity reached for them.
“You don't need them.”
Putting a hand out, he caught the younger man by the arm. He felt him flinch under his touch, but he didn't pull away, he was too well trained for that. Chris eased him back to his feet, turning Divinity to face him.
The young man's scent was calling to him as he slowly drew it into his lungs and tasted it on the air. He reached out with his other hand and cupped Divinity's face, gently he stroking his jaw. Chris brushed the ball of his thumb across the younger man's lips in a gentle caress; Divinity opened his lips slightly so his tongue flicked across the flesh.
That simple action of submission ignited the mating instinct in the Predator. Divinity was suddenly propelled backwards against the wall, a hand gripping his ass, pulling him tight against the man in black as a hand tangled in his long hair, pulling his head up so that his mouth could be savagely plundered.
Suddenly, Chris let go and he forced himself to take a step back. Anger flared in his eyes, breathing coming in harsh pants as he realised how close he had been to letting his overwhelming need for Divinity to overtake him. All he had been able to think of was burying himself deep into his mate as he bonded with him, tying the younger man to him, mind, body and soul.
But first he had to get him away from the people that would hurt him.
“Get your bag.”
Chris forced his breathing to slow down, swearing softly under his breath. “What the hell is wrong with you, you're like a horny teenager. Act your age, man.”
Looking up, he saw a mischievous grin on Divinity's face as his eyes flashed blue lightening for a heartbeat. Then, the grin faded, as did the heat from his eyes.
As they made their way out, one of the doors opened and JD looked out; he made as if to say something to Divinity to see if he was alright, as he had already heard what had happened in the room, but the words went unsaid, as one look at Divinity's new owner made JD pull back into his office. But his dark eyes still showed his concern.
0-0-0-0-0
One of Holland's men brought the black SUV round to the kerb. He didn't comment; he had seen Divinity with Johns before now, but his eyebrows did lift at the backpack.
Chris ordered Divinity into the passenger seat of the car and growled at him to make himself comfortable. The Predator Sentinel was keen to get him back to his territory. Now in the enclosed area of the car, the scent was pouring off the younger man and was almost suffocating. Chris crashed through the gears.
He had seen the fierce spirit in his mate and it was that spirit he was going to set free. Lost in thought, the cool hands that touched his lap made him jump. The car swerved and Chris only just managed to pull it back onto course.
“What the fuck?” He glanced sideways and swore again; Divinity had stripped naked and was now leaning across trying to unzip him, a look of studied concentration on his handsome face. Chris pushed Divinity's hands away, jerking his own hand back before he lost his control and buried his hand deep in the long brown hair and did something he would regret. It was then that his heart sank as he saw the young man flinch, waiting for him to hit him.
“Shit, I am not going to hurt you,” Chris swore. “Get dressed. That's all I need is for the cops to pull us over or us to crash and find you like that.” Divinity looked down, not making eye contact and began to pull his clothes back on. “Sorry, Master.”
Chris sighed. “Cut the Master crap, my name's Chris, use it.” He paused. “Why did you do it?”
“You told me to get comfortable; in a car that usually means they want a blow job, or if it's a limo, they want to fuck.” Divinity's voice had a raspy soft Texas accent that washed over Chris like a soothing balm.
“Whatever for, hell, it must be uncomfortable.” Chris forced himself to keep talking rather than do what he wanted to do, which was to pull over and… His hands tightened until his knuckles were white, as he forced himself to keep his voice calm.
“They like to fuck you or be blown while people are walking past, gives them a buzz,” Divinity continued.
“Well, you don't do that any more, so just sit still and enjoy the ride.”
The rest of the journey was made in silence. For the first time, Chris was beginning to realise that from a simple hit, his life had just gotten more complicated.
0-0-0-0-0
Denver Harmony House
Buck sat in his rental car outside of the Harmony House. As a Gamma Sentinel he didn't have to bond; he got what he wanted from the closeness and the affection of his many girlfriends. But, business was business and he was told to make contact with Ezra Standish, an undercover FBI agent working as a Companion that he had been told had some important information on Holland. So Buck had to go and play the part.
Harmony House, Buck mused, had all the warmth of a clinic.
The girl behind the reception desk wore a bored look on her face, her “Good Morning, Sir” said with a fake joviality.
“Mr Wilmington, darling, I have a booking with a Companion.”
The girl blushed under the Wilmington charm and her fingers clicked over the keys. “Yes, we have your reservation. You're with Mr Standish, Suite 23, 12th floor.” He couldn't' help but notice the way her voice had hardened when she said the name; she made it sound almost dirty. Indicating the two lifts, she said, “Please take the red lift to the 12th floor. Mr Adams will be waiting for you, Mr Wilmington.”
Mr Adams greeted Buck when he stepped off the lift and escorted him to the suite. “As per your booking, you have a suite with hot tub. You do understand the regulations? Good. Mr Standish is waiting for you, so enjoy your day, Sir.”
The door slid open and Buck looked a round. Standish was standing in the centre of the room; he was in his late twenties, brown hair, shorter than buck with a trim athletic build. He was dressed in black well-cut pants and a silk white shirt that was open at the throat.
“Good Morning, Mr Wilmington.” His accent was southern. “Would you like a drink before we start?”
“Whiskey, if you have one.”
Standish poured and then brought it over. “Aren't you having one?” Buck asked.
“I am working.”
“Join me, it's bad manners to drink alone.”
“As a gentleman I dislike bad manners.” Standish went back and poured one for himself.
Buck walked around the suite, noticing the emergency button just near the bed. “No bonding platform, I see.”
“Mr Wilmington, I am a Companion, not a Guide. Our customers like their comfort. Can I ask who recommended me?”
“Sure.” Buck began to loosen his tie and eased his jacket off, only to start slightly as Standish came over to help him.
“Mr Simpson said if I was ever in Denver to come and see you.”
Standish nodded and then, moving in front, began to unbutton Buck's shirt. He caught the Companion's wrists. “We don't have to do this,” Buck said softly.
“We do. Mr Adams has been known to check up on me and it seems that he suspects me of offering more than just a bonding.”
“And do you?”
Ezra Standish smiled. “I do what I need to, but I'll be pleased when this job is finished.” The words were heartfelt.
Buck's arms came round and he collected the smaller man into a hug. He felt Standish tense and then the Companion's mind brushed across his and the smaller man relaxed. “You just let old Buck take care of you.”
“It should be the other way round,” Standish protested, but there was no conviction in his words.
“Agent to Agent,” Buck said softly against Standish's ear.
Buck's anger suddenly flared and he felt Standish begin to pull away. He tightened his hold. “Easy, Standish, I am not angry at you, just the assholes that dumped you here for so long.” The FBI agent couldn't believe that they could just leave this young man hanging in the wind without any proper back- up.
He had read Standish's file. The man's code name was Chameleon and he was one of the best undercover agents in the FBI, yet the rumours in FBI Atlanta, accusing him of corruption and possible homosexuality - true or false - had all but destroyed this young man's career and his life.
“Link, Ezra.” The command was given softly.
“No, Mr Wilmington.” Ezra tried to pull free, but the bigger man just held on, his grip gentle yet firm enough to hold the undercover agent in place.
“We can't bond, I am a Gamma. But, I can shield you, just let go.” Gently, Buck moved one of his hands so that he was rubbing Standish's back in small circles, gradually making his way to the tightly bunched muscles of his neck. “Just let go.”
“My report-” Ezra's body was betraying him, even as he protested.
“Later, first you get some down-time and then the report.” Buck felt Ezra lean forward and his head come to rest on his shoulder. The younger man's scent was soured with sickness. He knew he couldn't cure the undercover agent, but he could give the man a safe haven for the day. He could only guess at the strain of keeping up such a pretence for six months, never allowing yourself to relax, knowing that one mistake could be your last, and what it had done to the younger man.
“You let me take care of you.” He led the younger man to the bed and then slowly began to unbutton Ezra's shirt, all the time keeping eye contact with him, easing it off his shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He pushed Ezra down to sit on the bed, then kneeling, he lifted first the right foot and removed his shoe and sock. Resting the foot on his thigh, Buck's large hands encircled the foot and he began to massage it, manipulating and rubbing it until he heard the barely hidden, breathless groan of pleasure from Standish. Only then did he lay the right foot down and work on the left foot.
A smile of satisfaction was plastered across Buck's face. The Gamma Sentinel could monitor the Companion's vital signs; they were slowing as the long held tension began to leave his body. Smiling warmly up at Ezra he reached out for the clasp on the dress pants. Ezra shook his head and for a moment, seemed to just look into Buck's eyes, as if he could see his very soul. He undid them himself, rising up a little from the bed so that he could push them down. Only then did he reach out a hand and pull Buck down onto the bed with him.
Although he didn't need to bond, Buck had been taught the mechanics of it; he knew that Ezra would have been injected to prevent him excreting the scent that would bring a Sentinel into the bond. His mother had been a specialist in the Whore's Guild; she had been born a guide, but rejected, so she had learned how to use her empathy to bring pleasure to her clients. To her son she had explained things that had never been written in books. It was now that Buck used them as he drew the younger man into his arms, settling him against his chest, the southerner's head tucked under his chin.
“Open your mind up, Ezra.”
“Mr Wilmington, I-”
“Yes you can, reach out for my mind. That's it Ezra, just do it,” Buck breathed, showing his pleasure. “I can feel you, just let go Ezra.” He breathed out softly, a smile touching his lips. “Can you feel me?”
“Yes.”
One word and it was shakily said. All the time, Buck's large hands were moving soothingly over Ezra, finding the points of tension that wracked his trim body so that they melted away, leaving him limp and spent. Buck could hear the younger man's heart and breathing slowing as his body relaxed under his talented hands and as his own mind cocooned Ezra's. The tension seeping away from the Companion, he no longer had to pretend and for a short time, he could be himself. Without conscious thought his mind surged and blew away the shackles that held him prisoner. Ezra's eyes flew open and he found himself looking up into the warm brown eyes of Buck Wilmington. The Gamma had felt the misty feel of Ezra's mind, previously clouded by the drug, suddenly explode into clarity. The green eyes that Buck looked down into had a flame dancing, flashing in them. The smile on the bigger man's face broadened. “Once this is over Ezra, there is someone you have just got to meet.” He felt the undercover agent's body finally go limp and he gathered him close, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek, before pulling the blankets up over them both.
0-0-0-0-0
Later, Ezra yawned and he snuggled back into those strong arms that held him so securely. Absently he stroked and petted his bed mate's shoulders and chest before curling round him and slipping back into sleep.
0-0-0-0-0
The Denver Apollo
The Duty Manager on the front desk hadn't dared to question Chris about Divinity. One look at the scowling man in black and the Manager had decided he had more important work to do elsewhere.
Chris didn't relax; the logical part of the brain was telling him that no one was going to take Divinity from him, but the Predator part was telling him he had to protect what was his. The fact that he could smell another man's scent on his future mate was driving his fury to higher levels.
Once inside the suite, he locked the door and turned on the younger man. With his senses turned up so high he was nearly gagging on the stench of musk and stale sex that was coming off him. Chris clutched his hands tightly at his side, knowing that if he let go he would tear the clothes off Divinity, throw him down onto the floor and take him until the younger man could not walk straight. The burning need to bury himself deep in Divinity was that strong. Take him so that no one else would ever be able to claim him again. He tried to fight the pull. Chris didn't want to touch him, because that was the devil's own temptation. But the pull to Divinity was something he could only fight for so long and before he realised it he had closed the gap between them.
Reaching up, Chris pulled the tie from Divinity's long hair, and despite the strong emotions tearing through him, his touch was light as he carded his fingers through it, brushing it back and out of his eyes. Subconsciously, he felt himself leaning into Divinity as he was getting lost in the touch and scent of the younger man's body. He jolted back to reality as he felt Divinity's hand cupping him through his figure-hugging black jeans, the long slender fingers rubbing against him wantonly.
Instead of inflaming him, it was like a bucket of cold water. Divinity thought he had brought him here to strip him off and fuck him hard, nothing more and nothing less. And everything he had done since getting into the room had re-enforced that. But he did want more; he wanted to bond with him, claim him as his mate, not just as a fuck toy. Taking a deep breath he carefully eased back.
“Go and have a shower - it's through there - while I order lunch. You must be hungry.”
Divinity's smile was mischievous. Well, if the John wanted to feed him then fuck him, who was he to argue? During the five day fuck fest he had spent with the Sentinels, he had been lucky to get a pizza crust and a bottle of water.
Picking his bag up, he went the way Chris had pointed to wash and prepare himself, because what was plain to him was that given his emotions, Chris would jump him much sooner than later. He rubbed his empty stomach. He just hoped it was after lunch, he could really do with a good meal.
0-0-0-0-0
Harmony House
Later
Glancing at the clock, Ezra sat on the bed pulling on his shoes as he finished up his report. “Our insider has one final delivery of information to make, then we have his books. Mr Adams, that loathsome creature that is working for Fallon; he is involved in booking Companion's for outside clients, then using them for blackmail or thieving. He has arranged for me to pick Jack Crow up at the America's Bar. He runs Holland's drugs factory, specialising in Silk and Coke. We get him and the factory, and we get Holland's money base.”
“You think you can deliver him?”
“Mr Wilmington, I am the best at what I do,” Ezra said, his smile smug.
“Cocky son of a bitch, aren't you?” Buck grinned, then added, “then you get to go home.” Buck was surprised to see the tension in the younger man. He opened his mouth and then closed it; he had read the report on Standish, and after bonding even on the surface level, knew the man had a good heart. One thing was certain: when this was over he was going to make sure that Ezra had a way out of this.
But whatever thoughts had affected the young man had been brushed aside. “When you go out, tell Adams that you want a house visit then give him your hotel number and book me for Thursday. I should have the information then. Oh, and Mr Wilmington, tip him at least a $100 when you do. He'll make the arrangement.”
“Will he question it?”
“Mr Wilmington, it is illegal to take a Companion to bond outside of the House, but it's profitable for both sides. Adams has a new wrinkle though, Mr Fallon takes a cut of the proceeds and a nice bit of black mail action on the side. If the Sentinel is rich enough, he won't want the fact that he's playing Guide with a Companion made public. Even the legal avenue of making a Companion ‘Special Reserved' is frowned up on and seen as a perversion.”
Buck let it go. “Alright, now I am at the Apollo, room 1589. See you on Thursday.” Buck hesitated. “Look after yourself, Ezra, and don't take any risks.”
“My life is one big risk.” But Ezra's smile took the sting from the words. If he was honest with himself, it was nice to have someone care about him.
Leaving the suite, Buck pressed a $100 note into Mr Adams's hand. “Now, he was real good, if you know what I mean.” Buck grinned broadly. “Wouldn't mind him again, but,” he put an arm round Adams as if the two men were great buddies, “it would be nice to be able to go somewhere a little less public, like, say, my hotel room.”
“That is against the rules, Mr Wilmington.”
Buck nodded. “Of course. Mr Adams, isn't it?” He reached into his pocket and drew out another couple of hundreds and pushed them into Adams's front pocket. “But, for two men of the world...”
“Of course, do come this way, Mr Wilmington.”
Ten minutes later the receptionist took the envelope from Buck containing the tip he was leaving for Ezra. She pushed it into one of the boxes behind her, and then turned to greet another Sentinel. Buck started as he heard the next Sentinel ask for Mr Standish.
Buck came out of the Harmony House. For a moment he stood and looked up at the building to the room where Ezra was and where the other Sentinel would now be with him. He felt a surge of anger run through him. Dress it up anyway you like, Companions were no different to the prostitutes of the Whore's Guild, only they had less rights. It was with a start that he realised that he had begun to think of Ezra as a Guide, not just a Companion. Then, with a shake of the head to clear the scandalous thoughts, he got into his car.
Ezra was really something. He looked forward to introducing him to Chris. That was one show he would buy tickets for.
0-0-0-0-0
At the same time at The Denver Apollo
The meal was good, plain food; baked potato, steak and all the trimmings, followed by strong coffee. The two men had lapsed into silence, but instead of being strained, it was comfortable.
Now that the smell of the other men were off Divinity, Chris found he could relax more, knowing that soon the only scent on the younger man would be his and only his. Over his coffee, he carefully studied Divinity and became lost in thought. The last time he had bonded it had been with his wife. He didn't count the sterile bonding with an emergency guide when he had overloaded on the way to drinking himself to death after his family had been murdered.
But this was different; not only was Divinity male, he was also a Feral Sentinel. Sentinels didn't bond with Sentinels - that had been hammered into the head of every Sentinel from birth. But all Chris knew was that what he was feeling for Divinity wasn't just an itch that a quick fuck with a willing body would cure. He needed to connect with him, own him, mind, body and soul, nothing less would do. Reaching out with his senses, he wrapped them around the enigma that was Divinity. As his eyes met the vivid blue ones across the table from him, he knew that he couldn't put it off much longer. He had fed Divinity and now he needed to bed him.
He wished he could sit here and spend the time to talk to him, but he was losing his control; he could feel it being slowly stripped away, layer by layer. Putting the cup down, he was surprised to see his hand shaking. He clenched his hand hard and then, when he opened it again, it was steady as he took Divinity's hand in his.
It was then that the younger man took over, leading him into the master bedroom so that he could sit on the bed as Divinity sank gracefully to his knees. Slowly, he brought Chris's hand to his mouth and licked across his fingertips, all the time his blue eyes remaining locked onto the green ones of the older man. Then, he blew lightly over the moist flesh. Chris shuddered and the breath caught in his throat as he drew two of the fingers into his mouth and sucked on them, his mouth sliding up and down on them, mimicking a more intimate act.
When Chris's other hand caught his hair, pulling his fingers free, Divinity leaned down and rubbed his face against the older man's thigh as his hands reached for the zipper of the tight jeans. Chris buried his hands into the long hair, pulling Divinity's head up so that he could look down into the blue eyes. The soft, rasping voice had a quality that played havoc with Chris's body. “It's okay, you don't have to play nice with me. You can take what you want, how you want.”
Chris loosened his grip on the long hair. Other Sentinels must have played their games with Divinity; he was now treating his future mate like just another John, and he didn't know who he belonged to. Chris eased his hand free and then caught Divinity, drawing him up to sit on the bed next to him as his other hand caressed Divinity's face. He saw the flame begin to burn faintly; inside him was a Feral, and he would be set free.
Then, together, they would make Fallon and Holland pay for the day they took this wild young creature and enslaved him. Leaning closer, he whispered, “You're mine, Divinity. You might try to run and hide, but I will find you. Your place is at my side. You'll learn that even if I have to tie you kicking and screaming to my bed.”
As he spoke his hand lightly caressed the side of the younger man's throat. “Maybe I should just mark you instead.”
Now Divinity was in the territory he knew. More than one Sentinel had wanted to play the big, bad, Alpha male with him. He lowered his voice to a seductive tone; his soft Texan accent was as smooth as honey to the Predator Sentinel. Chris wouldn't be the first John to mark him, his young body bore quite a few scars from men that had wanted to lay claim to him.
This tender touching was something he wasn't used to, though, most men had him stripped and ass up on the bed within twenty minutes of him entering the bedroom.
“Mark me, Alpha.”
Before he could say anything more, he was suddenly grabbed and thrust backward onto the bed. Something he saw in Chris's face made him begin to struggle as he was pinned down on his back. It was then that he felt the bite to his throat, hard and sharp, and at that moment the world inside of Divinity's head came crashing down. Burning hot lava exploded through his body as it arched off the bed and as he screamed as he came hard. Then the world went black, his mind no longer able to cope with the overload of memories crashing down on him. His head was thrown back, his breath harsh in his throat, as, like a computer, his mind rebooted itself.
When Divinty's eyes flew open, he was looking up into the face of a man leaning over him.
Chris's face blurred with the faces of other men; men that he had been forced to fuck for Fallon, men that had taken and abused him, leaving him torn and bleeding.
He would not let anyone hurt him again, he would die first, the restored Feral vowed. Divinity bucked and twisted under his would- be Alpha, his teeth biting down hard on the fleshy part of Chris's hand. The pain brought the Predator forward as he swore and clipped the Feral across the head - a sharp, stinging blow – a definit attention getter. He would have expected no less from his feral mate, but he had to know his place.
The Feral was growling his defiance; he managed to get a hand free and caught the Predator with a blow across the jaw. The Predator caught the Feral's wrist and pinned it down, just narrowly missing being head-butted as he leaned into his young mate. With a deep-throated growl, he bent his head down and bit hard on the younger man's throat again, this time holding him like that as he worried the skin, to mark him. The teeth on his throat quieted the Feral; it was the action of a dominant male. When the Predator released his hold, his eyes were burning like green flames and his lips pulled back into a snarl as he saw the fire in the Feral eyes burning bright. Power arched between them, joining them in mind and soul.
The Predator bent his head and nuzzled the side of Divinity's throat and inhaled deeply. The Feral's scent told of his willingness to bond. He licked across the bite and felt the Feral trembling under him. Carefully, the Predator released his hold, of the Feral's hands, but instead of pushing the older man away, Divinity now explored the Predator's body; touching, needing the physical connection, tugging at his clothing, making a needy, mewing sound.
The Predator knew his young Feral had been alone for too long, growing up as wild as a young mustang, then crippled, deprived of his true nature. He would need a firm hand to curb him. The Feral would have to willingly submit to his Alpha. This time when the Predator leaned down, the Feral tipped his head to one side, offering his throat to his Alpha. When he felt the Predator lift off his body, he gave a rasping growl and clawed at him, trying to pull his Alpha back down. When that failed, he rolled onto his side, looking up at the Predator, still snarling his displeasure.
“This has to be your choice, Divinity.”
Chris knew he had to offer him a way out. He couldn't force this on Divinity, it had to be what he wanted. He just didn't know what he would do if the younger man walked away.
“Never had a choice since the moment we first met.”
Divinity pushed himself up on his knees, his eyes meeting those of his Alpha. Slowly, he slipped off his shirt, letting it fall. He eased smoothly to his feet and removed his shoes and jeans, grimacing at the wet patch on them, before sliding, naked, to his knees again on the bed.
Kneeling, his placed both his hands to the small of his back and lowered his head, allowing his long hair to fall down veiling his eyes. The Feral, an Apex in his own right, was giving himself up to his Alpha, acknowledging his submission to the older man.
Chris knelt upright and loomed over his Feral, his hands reaching down to tip the handsome face up so that he could look into the blue, burning eyes. What he saw there was the need to be claimed. Divinity nuzzled into the palm of Chris's hand.
“Ain't no virgin, you know that. Don't need to screw around. Just push me down and get on with it.”
He nipped at the hand that held him as he reached out to tug at the Alpha's belt.
“Come on old man, make you feel real good.”
The nip at his Alpha's hand was a reminder that the Feral wasn't going to let the Alpha have it all his way. “You're mine, Divinity. The bond is sacred and that means that no one gets hurt.”
He firmly knocked away the questing fingers and pulled the younger man against him, a hand guiding Divinity's head onto his shoulder as his other hand cupped the firm ass. Opening his senses, Chris revelled in the slender yet muscular body that was now pressed close to him. Divinity ground himself against his Alpha's lean body, reaching inside the black jeans, his hands making Chris hard and intoxicated by the scent of the man he held in his arms. A nip to the throat brought Chris back to the matter at hand and with a growl, he pushed Divinity down, his body covering the writhing body of his young mate, and as Divinity's legs wrapped around him he thrust deep inside his body.
0-0-0-0-0
When Chris awoke, he found the bed empty. Looking round, he saw Divinity sitting in the chair opposite the bed, naked, one leg tucked under him, the assassin's rifle in his hand. As Chris straightened, he heard the bolt being pulled back and a bullet chambered.
The Texas drawl was soft and raspy. “The Remington K95L, accurate to 2500 yards. Good weapon, just as accurate and deadly at six foot.”
“Who are you, Divinity?” Chris knew that he was looking at his mate in his true guise.
“Name's Vin Tanner. Least it was until the Firm got their hands on me.”
He leaned his head back. “I was running wild and free on the streets - a gang of us - even if it did mean avoiding the police squads that tried to kill us.” He broke off, the rifle twitching in his hands as if to remind to Chris to keep still.
“The Firm? Then, you're Fallen Angel,” Chris said, levelly.
“Then you know what they did to us, during training, to get us to accept our handlers as our Alpha's.”
Chris nodded; he knew all about the brutal physical and mental abuse that the young Feral saved from the cull had been subjected to. The anger that this could have happened to his mate flared in him, but he kept his voice level. “How did you get free?”
“My handler was bringing me back from Mexico, took out a cartel drug lord.” Vin Tanner smiled at the memory, reminding Chris that most Ferals had a sociopathic strain in them that made them cold-blooded killers.
Vin continued. “He decided that I was breaking my programming and was told to cull me. He hesitated, I didn't. The police gate-crashed the party, and the next thing I am getting out of Texas with a wanted poster and a warrant on my head-” He trailed off.
Chris was judging the distance to his handgun and knew he would never reach it alive. Divinity, no, Vin Tanner's reactions were just as razor sharp as his own. “So, how did you end up as Divinity?”
“Divinity is the name the Firm gave me.”
The answer was short and sharp. “It was the name I was made to answer to, but wasn't my name. I am a Tanner.” There was a pride in those words that Chris had never heard before.
“How did Holland get hold of you?”
“I don't remember the car crash. I was in a coma for 15 days, broke out of hospital when the doctor got too interested and went back to hustling on the streets. One of Holland's men caught me in their territory, gave me a beating. They had a copy of my poster and Fallon blackmailed me; spent three months in the dive on Fourth Street breaking me in. I was putting out for $15 dollars a blow or $40 a fuck before he decided that Sentinels like the taste of me, and moved me to the club. You know the rest.”
“How would you like to bring Holland down?”
“Do I get a chance to kill him?”
There was a hopeful note to his mate's voice that he liked and the smile had lost its ice and had a mischievous edge to it.
“Depends on how good you are, Vin.”
“Oh, I can be real good, Christopher.” The use of his full first name seemed to freeze Chris for a second; the only ones that had ever called him Christopher were his mother and Sarah. Anger flew through him that this psycho street-rat should call him that. Then, he saw the sadness as he realised that his anger had been plain for his young mate to see. He put a hand out.
“Come on, let me explain.”
This was the moment of trust. Vin could just pull the trigger and walk out of the room. The same Vin had to trust that he wouldn't hurt him. Chris flung the covers back and offered his hand again. His young lover put the rifle down.
“Sorry, Chris.”
The emotions behind the apology were real. “It's okay Vin.” Then he added gruffly, “get your scrawny Texan ass in here, Tanner,” as he gave the bed a pat, the smile on his face belying his words.
“Hey, what do you mean, scrawny? Didn't see you complaining earlier and I've got the teeth marks to prove it.” Vin rubbed his ass, pleased at the result that got from his older mate.
“Brat,” Chris said as he caught his mate's hand and pulled him down on the bed, so that Vin was resting in his arms. Tucking his head under his chin and rubbing his hands over the chilled flesh, he tried to warm him up. “It's all right, you couldn't know.” He pressed a kiss to Vin's forehead and cuddled him closer. “There's a few things I should tell you.” Chris began to explain to his young lover what was happening.
“So, it's Larabee, not Garrison.” Vin pulled himself free and looked down at Chris Larabee.
“Still my Alpha, no matter what you call yourself.” He nuzzled at the older man's throat as he whispered sentinel soft.
For the first time in three years, Chris Larabee actually laughed and cuddled his young lover closer to him.
Vin's hands moved over the lean, muscular body of his Alpha Sentinel. With a sexy yet evil smile, he asked, “If I can't kill Holland, what about Fallon?” He breathed against the sensitive skin and he felt his Sentinel's breath catch.
“Maybe.” Chris managed to spit the word out as the last of his rational self left him. As he heard the soft, sexy chuckle of his mate, Chris's hand wrapped into Vin's hair and pulled his face close for a long, passionate kiss.
Vin eased free of the grip to on his hair and then, with a snarl, pushed his Alpha backward so that he landed on his back. Vin lunged forward so that he was straddling him, his hands pressing down on Chris's shoulder. The Predator made no attempt to throw off his young mate.
Vin reached a hand out, trailing it down Chris's body in a sensual sweep, feeling the muscles ripping under his light touch, until he could fist his Alpha's weeping cock. Then, lifting himself up slowly, his eyes never leaving those of his Alpha, he lowered himself down until he was filled, then began to move. As one of Chris's hands found his hair and pulled his head down for a soul claiming kiss his other massaged his young lover's hip, encouraging him to move in a rhythm older than time itself. Then, for the two men everything else was forgotten, as the Predator claimed his Feral lover.
0-0-0-0-0
Buck had waited two days, then decided to make contact. He looked up and down the corridor and then knocked on the door, paused and tried the door handle. The door gave - it was unlocked.
The next thing he knew, he was kissing the carpet with a knee in his back and a gun to his head.
“Hello, Buck.”
Lifting his head off the floor, he saw the man in black sitting in a chair facing the door, smoking one of his habitual cheroots, the green eyes evaluating him then, finally, “Let him up, Vin”.
Buck felt the gun removed. Pushing himself up, he saw a young man in stone coloured, figure-hugging jeans and a white, turtleneck sweater move round to stand just behind Chris, a 9mm Glock in his hands. Good looking, the eyes that pinned him were burning with an arctic cold flame.
Buck didn't take his eye off the newcomer; he could feel the barely suppressed aggression pouring off the man and he knew with a sinking feeling what was looking at. “He with you?”
“Yeah.”
“And he's...?”
“Mine,” Chris said. He paused. “Buck Wilmington, this is Vin Tanner. Vin, this is FBI Special Agent Buck Wilmington.”
The young man's hand came up and the gun was pointed straight at him. Buck swallowed. “Come on, old dog, I-” He didn't get a chance to finish.
Chris's hand pressed the gun down. “It's all right, he's an old friend of mine. You can put it away.” The gun disappeared, tucked into the waist band of the jeans.
Buck slowly released the breath he hadn't known he was holding as he got to his feet carefully, not wanting to trigger a response from Larabee's shadow.
“He a cop, a fed?” Buck asked, getting the feeling he wasn't going to like the answer, given what he had seen just minutes earlier.
“A Fallen Angel,” Chris said, as he looked up at Vin from where he was sitting, catching the younger man's gaze and reassuring him. The flames in their eyes burned and arched between them.
“Oh yes, Ezra has got to meet you guys,” Buck said, as he added, “Chris, don't tell me he's a Feral.”
“Don't have to. You're the Gamma, you tell me.”
“Feral. Must be bonded otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation and my brains would be staining the carpet.” The smile Buck got from the Feral was a surprise; it had a warm edge to it. Oh, there was no mistaking that he was a very dangerous man; the Feral was controlled, but, Buck sensed, not tamed. He found himself returning the Feral's smile.
The low, deep-throated snarl reminded Buck that Chris didn't like the interest he was showing in Vin Tanner. Frowning, Buck took a careful sniff and there it was. The unmistakable scent of the Feral underlined Chris's own scent, they had not just bonded but mated.
“Whoopee, you old dog, about time.” He grinned even broader, surprised to see a blush colour the Feral's face.
“Buck.” This time the warning was clear, Larabee meant business. “Did you make the meet?”
“Yeah, Standish is okay. He's meeting with the insider within the next couple of days, should have all the information then. Holland is really anal about recording everything down to the last cent. Without him we would never have been able to get you planted. Holland's even got your transaction covered, the deposit paid into your account for the hit and including someone called Divinity.”
He looked towards Vin Tanner and when he didn't get a reaction was about to continue when he heard “JD”. It was said Sentinel soft, almost sub-vocal and Buck almost missed it. When he saw Buck's reaction, he spoke even softer, this time it was beyond Gamma Sentinel hearing abilities.
“It's alright, tell him Vin,” Chris prompted out loud.
“The kid's name is JD; a computer geek, must be him, he's the only one with access. This starts to fall apart, and it won't take a mastermind to work it out, your undercover boy will be dead.”
“Not if we can help it. Standish is trying to find the location of the Coke and Silk factory. He's meeting with Jack Crow, seems he's a Sentinel with a few special tastes.”
“If he meets him he's dead,” Vin put in levelly.
“What?” Buck exploded and started forward, but before he could get to Vin, Chris was up and blocking his way. “Explain, Vin.”
“Crow isn't a Sentinel. Likes to play one, been beta to his alpha a few times. Last time he put me in hospital. He goes anywhere with Crow and he's dead.”
“Shit,” Buck swore, then looking at Vin, he asked, “You sure about this?”
“He said it, he's sure,” Chris confirmed.
“We have to get him out of there.”
Vin leaned forward, his lips close to Chris's ear, then he glanced up at Buck.
“Might work.” He paused. “Okay, this is what we're going to do.”
“Chris, you trust him that much?” Buck jerked his head towards Vin.
“With my life.” Three words that spoke volumes.
0-0-0-0-0
Buck came out of Harmony House and slid into the car. He turned to the driver. “Adams gave me the details for $1000. Ezra is at the America's Bar, he's due to meet Crow at 9.00 pm. We've got forty-five minutes to get him out of there, Chris.”
0-0-0-0-0
The America's Bar
It might have been called a bar but it was nothing more than a fancy brothel. The place reeked of money and already as Chris entered he could sense at least twenty Sentinels there. His eyes fixed on his target, Ezra Standish. The Companion was surrounded by young Sentinels who were openly piling money in front of him.
The leader, a tall, big well built man, had a firm grip on Ezra and was, to the enjoyment of the others, openly groping the Companion's crotch, even as Ezra was trying to free himself. If anything, his struggles were arousing them more.
Chris glanced at his young lover and could see the anger flashing in his blue eyes, Vin's hand resting just inside his jacket on the gun he was carrying.
One of the Sentinels turned, a smile on his face. “Divinity!, Look boys, it's Divinity. Looks like you couldn't get enough of us after all.” The other Sentinels laughed. He leered. “How about $500 for the night and you put on a real good show for us. Get on all fours, wiggling that hot ass for us, while you suck us off.” He closed the distance, reaching out for Vin and then dropped to the floor from the kick to the groin, followed by a knee to the face as he had gone down. A foot now pinned his neck to the floor and a gun was pressed hard against the side of his head.
“Vin.”
Divinity looked up.
“Later.”
With a nod to his Alpha, Vin removed his foot and stood back, but not before delivering a kick to the head that put the man out cold.
Buck smiled at the grim-faced Alpha. The kid sure was a mean one when he got going, but then, looking at the group of young Sentinels, he had good cause. They were arrogant and pampered and thought they could do anything they wanted. Time they learned different.
The older Sentinels had already started to back away. They knew without being told what they were looking at, it radiated off the man in black. This wasn't just an Alpha, this was a Predator Apex Sentinel, the top of the food chain, mean tempered and ready to wipe the floor with anyone that got in his way. The younger man in the battered leather jacket and white turtleneck was Feral and unstable as they come. The Predator and Feral smelt of each others scent, a bonded, soul-mated pair.
There was not enough money in the world for them to step in and get in the way of that pair. If they wanted the Companion, then any sensible man would let the Predator take him.
"KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF HIM."
The bellow came from across the room and brought everyone to a stand still as the man in black closed the distance between him and the Companion. Chris's hand dropped on Ezra's shoulder. The Companion didn't turn but he could see the anger burning in the flashing green eyes in the bar mirror.
“You're coming with me, Companion.”
Ezra had had enough. “Sir, I am quite able to defend myself and I don't need any help with these knuckle-dragging Neanderthals. Moreover, I am not a bit of meat to be fought over." Then, finally turning to face him, he said levelly, meeting Chris's glare, “I am not looking for company, I am already working.”
A young sentinel unwisely sidled up to Ezra, seeing the Companion's rejection of the Predator Sentinel and seeking to take advantage of it gabbed his ass as he smirked at the Companion, but it turned to anger as Ezra snarled, “Unhand me, Sir," and pushed his hand away. The young Sentinel made to grab him, but Ezra moved fast, catching his wrist, turning and throwing the young sentinel off balance, so that he was pushed up against the bar, his arm twisted high up his back. A kick to his legs brought the young sentinel crashing down to his knees.
“Let me put this so that even a hard-headed Neanderthal could understand. You don't get to have me. I am working, so back off.” With that, Ezra let him go with a push, so the young man sprawled on the floor. Reaching out, Ezra caught up his drink and swallowed it down in one gulp.
“You still here?”
Ezra put the glass down slowly and gestured for another drink. When he reached for it Chris beat him to it and, with a smirk, downed the drink.
“Sentinels. Dumb as a ox, every single one of them,” Ezra drawled. His fist lashed out hard, catching Chris on the jaw and sending him staggering back a couple of paces. But he kept his feet and rubbed his painful jaw, his eyes burning and an amused look on his face. This Companion had spirit and was a worthy guide for him and his lover.
“Though I am loathe to use such vulgar words, sometimes it has to be said. Piss off and leave me alone.”
This time Chris was ready for Ezra. He ducked under the fist and Ezra was thrown up against the bar, winded, Ezra didn't have a chance to protect himself when the Predator loomed over him. The next minute he was thrown over a shoulder. Ezra tried to free himself but he received a stinging blow to his ass and a second one just as hard followed.
"Fuck it, let me go, you retarded, over-sensed caveman." The hand hit him again, two more stinging blows, as Chris growled, "Keep a civil tongue in your head, Companion, and quit struggling or you won't sit down for a month."
If Ezra thought he had reached the maximum amount of embarrassment, he was proved wrong when the piano player struck up with the song from Officer and a Gentleman, to the applause and catcalls of the other Sentinels, as Chris was followed out of the bar by a grinning Buck and Vin.
0-0-0-0-0
Once clear of the bar, Ezra was vocal. He had recognised his contact. “Mr Wilmington, what the hell do you think you're doing? I had a meeting with Crow there. You just blew that.”
Before Buck could reply, Chris cut in. “I just saved your ass, Standish. You think those Sentinels wanted to play bond or play fuck the Companion?” He put Ezra down and the smaller man stumbled then caught his balance.
“I could have handled them.” Ezra stood, determined not to rub his stilling aching behind while the Predator was there and give him the satisfaction of knowing the blows had hurt. Instead, he pulled at his shirt cuffs, getting his suit back into place after his manhandling.
It was then that he realised the younger Feral Sentinel had moved closer, his head tilted slightly and the man had the nerve to be openly scenting him.
“Real purty, Chris. He ours?” Vin asked, his usual rasping soft, Texas accent thicker as he began to lose himself in the scent of the Companion. Vin reached a hand out and slowly, lightly stroked Ezra's arm, looking hurt when his hand was brushed away.
“I am not a stray cat to be petted, Mr, err-” Ezra trailed off.
Buck saw the blue flames that flashed and burned in Vin's eyes echoed in Chris's green eyes, hot and all consuming, meeting over the head of the Companion.
Chris must have seen the want in his mate's eyes because he smiled softly. “Sure, he's ours.” The last words were said with a force of ownership that took Buck's breath away. Ezra began to back away as the two Sentinels turned towards him and Ezra lowered his barriers to get a reading on them. He took another step back. He knew the older man was a Predator, hell, you had to be blind not to know that, but the younger man was a Feral. He could sense the wildness and power that radiated from them. His hand went into his pocket and tightened on the small spray he carried. From where he stood, Buck saw the burning heat of the Sentinel's eyes meet the ice-cold flame in the Companion's green; a well-matched bond.
“I am an FBI agent, not a chew toy, so gentlemen you can go …”
With a growl, they closed in on him. Ezra's hand whipped out and he hit the spray. The sage was thick in the air, leaving Chris and Vin doubled over, gasping for breath as he took to his heels.
The roar he heard echoing through his head only sped up his escape. He was due to meet Mr Wilmington tomorrow and he was going to find out what the hell was going on. His meeting with Crow was shot and he wanted answers.
0-0-0-0-0
The next day
Vin answered the door to find Fallon standing there. Fallon brushed past him as he closed the door.
“Where's Garrison?”
“Out.”
“Leaves you on your own?”
Fallon looked him up and down, then shrugged. Divinity was too well-trained to disobey. He glanced at his watch. Divinity had always been his favourite toy. There was time to get reacquainted and Garrison wouldn't begrudge him a quick fuck or blow job for old times sake.
“Get me a drink.” Fallon walked over to look out of the window; he could hear the small sounds that told him that the younger man was doing as he told. His mind went back to the incident in the room where Divinity had killed Frankie. He had done some searching and so far had drawn a blank, but he had the kid continue looking.
Fallon turned to accept the drink and then reached out with his other hand to touch Divinity's hair. He gave the cut hair a hard tug.
“Like it better long, gives something to hold you by.”
Fallon's hand dropped to the younger man's shoulder and pushed down.
“On your knees,” he snarled, then he knocked back the rest of his drink in one swallow.
Divinity looked him straight in the eye.
“No.”
Fallon dropped the glass and hit Divinity hard in the stomach, doubling him over. “What did you say, bitch?”
Divinity straightened up, his hand pressing against his stomach, struggling for breath.
“No.”
The backhander rocked his head to one side. A hand caught the back of his neck and he was driven head first over the back of the couch. Fallon pinned him down, his erection pressing hard into Divinity's ass as he rocked against him. When the younger man began to struggle he hit him hard across the back of the head.
“You think you can say no to me, bitch?”
With one hand he tugged his belt off, doubling it up. He moved off Divinity and then hit him hard across the buttocks as he held him, pinned, with one hand tightened round the back of his neck. Pain exploded through the younger man's body.
As quickly as the assault started, it finished. Fallon was breathing harder with excitement as he rubbed himself against him. “I should take you up the ass now, see how you like it.” He heard the muffled cry of pain as he put his weight onto Divinity, making pain flare through his backside and made it hard for the smaller man to breathe. Fallon leaned over him so he was whispering in his ear; “Instead, you can use that sweet mouth of yours.”
Fallon looped his belt around Divinity's throat and pulled it tight, holding it with one hand. He grabbed the back of the sweater and pulled him down onto his knees. Tightly fisting Divinity's hair, he ground the younger man's face into his groin, so that he could feel his hard cock pressing against his mouth. “Unzip me.”
Just then, the door opened and Chris, flanked by Buck, came in. What he saw was his lover on his knees, Fallon holding tight to his hair, a belt round his throat and Vin's hand dropping to his boot as he was in the process of pulling the knife he carried.
“Vin---ity, no.” Chris just managed to alter the name in time. In three strides he pushed Fallon away and then hauled Vin to his feet and threw him into Buck's arms. “Take him into the bedroom, Buck, and don't wait for me. I've got some business to discuss.”
Buck manhandled Vin into the bedroom. “Garrison told you not to let anyone in the room, seems like you need to be shown who is boss here, boy.” The door shut behind them.
Vin turned fast on Buck as the bigger man released him, the knife appearing in his hand almost by magic.
“I am going to kill the bastard.” The blue eyes burned and Buck could feel the barely suppressed violence that the Feral was about to release.
Buck blocked the door, his hand held up. “Easy Junior, Chris is handling it. He's your Alpha, you have to trust him, and we have a job to do. Afterwards I'll help you, Vin, but we have a mission to finish first. Now, put that knife away and get naked.”
“You touch me and I'll send your dick home in a bag.” The words were snarled at him.
“This is a game, Junior, that's all, a show for Fallon. We have to give that sick bastard what he wants.” Then, turning his back on Vin, he began to strip. That was one of the hardest things to do; not taking his clothes off, but putting his back to an armed Feral Sentinel.
0-0-0-0-0
With Divinity dismissed, Chris turned on Fallon. The man was caught and slammed against the wall hard enough to make the paintings shake. Chris's voice was arctic cold as he hissed, “What the fuck were you doing? Divinity is my property, I paid for him so keep your hands off him.”
Fallon clawed at the hand holding his throat as he pleaded. “It was just for old times sake, Mr Garrison. Divinity got himself a bit of attitude. Had to take the sass out of him.” He looked towards the bedroom. “What the fuck's wrong you, it's not like you're not sharing him already.”
Fallon was slammed back hard again and Chris was right in his face. “Buck is my back up. We share the fee, we share Divinity. You got a problem with that?” Chris threw Fallon away from him. The voice was almost mocking. His hand was just inside of his jacket, his fingertips tapping the butt of the gun he wore. “So, why are you here Fallon, or does Holland send you to check up on all his old whores?”
“Holland wanted to know what was taking you so long, he-”
“I do the job my way; if he wants it done quick he can get a new assassin, I am not being rushed on this one. And don't even think of subcontracting out. You do that, you tell Holland he won't have to worry about Orin Travis, because he'll already be dead.”
“Do you really want me to pass that message on to him?” Fallon was waiting for Garrison to back down.
The assassin's lips twitched in an ice-cold smile.
“Word for word, Fallon. Holland pays for a job, but I do it my way. Now get out.” Garrison turned his head towards the bedroom. “I have some other business to deal with.”
Just then the bedroom door opened and Buck came out, a towel knotted round his waist and an arm round a naked Divinity, his big hand clasped to the younger man's hip. “What's keeping you, get rid of this guy and join the party.” He let go of Divinity, patting him on the ass. “Go get the whiskey.” He grinned as he watched the younger man walk away, admiring him. “Good ass on that kid.” Buck grinned at Fallon. “Can't wait to try him,” he leered at the other man.
Divinity was caught hold of by Garrison and pulled close and he plastered himself against his Alpha and nuzzled the older man as he was roughly fondled. “You still here, Fallon?” Chris said.
Fallon backed towards the door, unable to hold eye contact with Chris. He could see that the killer was in no mood for him. Well, he had given his message and now was time to get out. The door closed behind him with a bang.
There was a deep anger simmering in Chris Larabee. How dare Fallon take a hand to his mate? It had taken all of his will power not to kill the man. During the last couple of days with his lover, he had noticed the fading scars on the younger man's body -- on his back, buttocks and thighs -- deep wounds that had left white scars. Thin scars marked each wrist and his Sentinel touch had detected the ridges of where ribs had been fractured and then healed. Reaching out, he pulled Vin to him, crushing the lithe body against him. Buck managed to snag the bottle of Whiskey from the younger man's hand as Vin was pulled towards the guest bedroom.
Buck took a deep drink from the bottle. Cocking his head to one side, he grinned as he heard the shower go on. Taking another drink he collected his clothes from the bedroom, knowing that a bonding Predator wasn't going to take kindly to having another man near his mate. Not at this time when there was some serious claiming going on.
0-0-0-0-0
Vin was stood under the shower, his head resting on his Alpha's shoulder, his arms wrapped round the older man as Chris washed him. Soaping the back of his neck and then gradually working his way across his shoulders, then down his back and flanks. Chris heard the soft groan of pain from his mate as he lightly washed his buttocks, mindful of the beating they had taken. For Vin, these tender touches were something that he had never experienced before Chris. He couldn't understand why Chris took the time to touch him gently and lovingly. He had been hurt worse than this before. To try and speed the older man up, Vin began to rub up against him, the need burning through him to bond and connect with his Alpha and lover.
Chris had to bite back the urges that burned through him, but he needed this to be right. His mate had been assaulted by Fallon. It didn't matter that Fallon had done this before and possible a lot worse. He had to know that he was loved. Gently, he led Vin out of the shower and began to dry him, talking softly to him, reassuring him that he would care for him.
Then, Chris slid his arm around his mate and took him to the bed, drawing him down and nestling him in his arms.
“No, Vin.”
He caught his mate's hands as they tried to touch him and held him close, his lips brushing Vin's forehead softly.
“Don't you want to fuck me? Is it because of Fallon?” There was almost desperation in his voice as he pulled out of Chris's arms and pushed up on his hands and knees so that he could look down at his Alpha.
Chris smiled softly; reaching up, he caressed Vin's face and drew him down for a long kiss. Then he eased back. “Vin, I want you so bad it's burning me up, but you're hurting and I am not going to make it worse.”
“He's done worse to me, don't matter.” He dove in for another kiss.
But Chris caught him. “It matters to me, Vin. I am going to kill Fallon. No one hurts you and lives.”
Vin's laugh was soft and sexy. “Chris, I am a Fallen Angel, if I want him dead, I blow his brains out myself.”
“I am your mate, your Alpha. I'll kill him, you're mine and no one touches what is mine.” The strong declaration burned through Vin and his blue eyes ignited only to be answered by Chris's green eyes. As Vin leaned back down again, Chris stopped him. “And I don't fuck you, I want to make love to you, understand?” Vin nodded and kissed him long and hard. It saddened Chris that even though Vin nodded, he knew that he didn't yet understand the difference between sex and lovemaking. All he could do was show his young mate that he loved him.
Gently rolling Vin onto his back, Chris used his hands and mouth to worship Vin's body, giving each sigh and each moan special attention, until his young mate was writhing under him. When he finally entered him, Vin was riding on wave after wave of pleasure. Chris never let the pleasure reach the point of pain; this was all about Vin, making him feel loved, understanding that love didn't mean pain.
Finally he came, screaming his completion, his body arching as Chris bit him on the throat, re-enforcing his claiming. Only then, exhausted, did Chris collect the limp body of his mate into his arms and then tug the blankets up over them. A few minutes later, the door opened and Buck looked in.
“Chris?”
“We're fine.”
With a nod Buck closed the door, then left the suite. He had a Companion to meet.
0-0-0-0-0
The undercover agent was sitting at a table in the corner; his Companion pin was tucked under his lapel. “Join me, Mr Wilmington.” He waved him to a seat.
Buck slipped into the seat. Seeing the way Ezra looked round him, he said, “Don't worry, they're not here. Sage?” He nodded to the small spray that the southern FBI agent had in his hand.
“It pays to come prepared, Mr Wilmington, especially when confronted by a Feral and a Predator.” He gave a shudder.
Buck grinned. The man was pure theatre; it was going to be interesting adding him to the pack. In Buck's mind, that is what they were, a pack. Oh, Chris might bristle and fight it, but that was what he had. The Sentinel Clan of Denver was going to love this; it was going to be worth the price of admission to see what happened when Chris met up with Clan Leader Mick Ryan.
“Why did you break up my meeting with Crow? I worked hard to get that arranged, and-”
“He would have killed you,” Buck interrupted, then added, “Vin, the Feral, he used to be made to work for Holland and he was loaned out to Crow. He was hospitalised. Seems he gets his jollies from playing Alpha Sentinel. Vin had to be returned to Holland; he was an expensive piece of merchandise , but you, he's been known to kill Companions. You had a one-way ticket, Ezra. I am pulling you in.”
“Mr Wilmington, you are not my handler, I-”
“As of 9.00 am, I am. And Ezra, I am not letting you get killed, so drink up. You're coming with me.”
“Mr Wilmington, I have a job to do.” He jerked as a hand dropped on each shoulder. He looked up; Feral to the left, the Predator dressed all in black to the right.
“Can I get you two a drink?” He tried to get up, but was pushed back in place as the two newcomers took a seat either side of him. He flinched as he felt the Feral's hand drop onto his thigh and he heard the low-throated rumble as he stroked his leg under the table.
“Mr Wilmington.” Ezra allowed a slight edge of panic to touch his voice, appealing to his fellow FBI agent as he tried to slap away the questing hand.
“Vin likes you, Ezra, you'll be a good addition to our pack.” The lean blond in black answered, with a smile to the younger Sentinel to reassure him.
“I am an FBI Agent, Mr, errr-”
“Call me Chris, I am ATF.”
“Never had a guide,” Vin said almost shyly. “Would not want to hurt him.”
“You won't; when we bond I'll be right there with you, he's ours,” Chris said.
“Err, Gentlemen, I don't want to sound ungrateful, but I feel that I must point out one important fact. I am a male Companion, not a Guide.”
“Can see that, Ezra.” Vin said the name almost reverently .
“Hell, Ezra, before Chris bonded no one had ever heard of a Predator bonding with a Feral. They should have, by all accounts, torn each other apart. So we're not exactly following the rules here,” Buck said as he got to his feet. “Now boys, I think we should take this somewhere nice and private, before Junior here does something that is going to get us all arrested.”
A mobile phone went off; Ezra clawed it out of his pocket. The three Sentinels were able to follow his conversation. It was JD; the kid was scared but holding on to his fear with both hands. Holland was going up the wall, he had been tipped off that the law was closing in on them. He was going to have to extract. Before Ezra could tell him what to do, the phone went dead.
Ezra glared at the three men, this was the reason he hated inter- agency missions, there was always someone that got left out in the cold, and it was usually him. Only this time it looked like it might be the kid that paid the price.
End of Part One
Feedback to: fstargate3000@yahoo.co.uk
