Alun bolted upright in bed, a scream stuck in his throat. It fought to escape, but he held it back, his mouth wide open in silent horror. He’d learned early in his slavery to never disturb his alien master with something as irrelevant as his own terror. That mistake had only led to punishment and the hideous pain that accompanied it. It was better to trap it all inside and push it down deep, where even he didn’t dare look. With his heart pounding, he clenched the bedding while fighting to regain control. It had only been a nightmare, nothing real, except it had contained bits from his actual life as a slave. The fact that he no longer lived in that world of misery didn’t help. The remnants of his excruciating past hung around his neck, as surely as the chains Jacob Marley had forged. The image from that book he’d been allowed to read long ago stayed with him as the perfect representation of his own life. There was no escaping what had been done to him, what he’d survived. And now it threatened to repeat itself in a new and unfathomable way.
“Merlin.” He dared to whisper his son’s name. There was no one to hear. He practically swam in the huge, luxurious bed afforded him in a room that was bigger than the tiny house he’d lived in with his family—before his world had been upended by a creature without mercy or morals, who had used him as a toy and an unnatural breeder of his unholy spawn. At least, that was how he’d viewed his son in the beginning.
He clutched at the simple gold crucifix Lucien had kindly given him. The comfort of his religion had been denied him for so long. It was strange and miraculous to regain it. No one in this household would care about his wearing this symbol. Many of the aliens wore something similar, except they weren’t believers—not really. It was simply one way in which they’d sought to blend in among humans. For him, it truly meant something, a rebirth of his belief and hope that God had not forsaken him. He hid the sign beneath his shirt to keep it private as he slowly regained his faith.
Tightening his grip, he dared to say a prayer for his son. “Please, God, keep him safe. Forgive me for ever denying him my love and protection.” It had been hard to accept the squalling bundle that had been cut out of him and impossible to protect him from the brutality of the alien who was his sire. When Merlin had started to abuse him as well, it had almost been a relief. It had given him a reason to harden his heart and turn away from the violence visited upon him with such casual cruelty.
That carefully constructed shell had begun to crack. His son was not who Alun had thought him to be—or he’d changed with the right influence, something Alun had never possessed. When Dracul’s army of mercenaries had invaded, Merlin had looked into Alun’s eyes and expressed his sorrow over his violence. That had been the first real connection between them. Alun had seen actual regret and a softness of feeling that was purely human. At that moment, he’d found something of himself in his son and had known hope. But with that discovery came other, more frightening emotions. Now, he worried about Merlin. Was he truly safe? Was he even alive? Could he manage to deceive and betray Dracul without paying the ultimate price of losing his life?
For the first time, Alun prayed for his son to live.
“Mary, Mother of God, please watch over him.” He brought the crucifix to his lips, a reflexive action that helped calm the last of his nerves.
He released his grip on the bedding as well and lay back against his mound of pillows. Really, the luxury he lived in was almost as disconcerting as his captivity in Dracul’s castle had been. He didn’t know what to do with it. In his early life, he’d shared a small bed with two brothers. As a slave, he’d confined himself to a narrow strip of a bigger bed that he’d been forced to sleep in with his master. That arrangement had been about convenience, not kindness. His master had wanted him handy for his pleasure. Alun would have preferred sleeping on the cold stone floor rather than lying near his torturer. As he lay in the