Then there were seven. Merlin kept hold of Mateo’s arm as he maneuvered them to one side of the doorway. He wanted the guy tucked away where he could protect him without boxing himself in too much. His heart pounded and his stomach clenched. He thought of the castle in Wales and how many times he’d had to pretend that he wasn’t afraid. He knew how to throw up a mask of bravado, to bluff his way out of trouble. It wouldn’t be enough this time. There would be blood, but that was hard-wired in his DNA.
I can do this.
He let go of Mateo at the same time that he shoved him into a corner. Then he let his fangs descend. “Change of plans, boys.” Opening his mouth wide, he ran his tongue across his teeth. More than one of the men took a step back and they all went into high alert.
“I’ve decided that I’m not going to share. The cunt’s mine. If you want to get your rocks off, pair up with each other.”
The men shared looks for a few seconds before one of the braver ones stepped forward. “Fuck that. The boss said we could all have a go at him.”
Merlin shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and kept his arms loose the way Val and Malcolm had taught him. “I don’t care what the Master said. He’s not here now, is he?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Do you want to whine to him about how I’m keeping the toy for myself? I’m sure he’d be devastated to hear that you aren’t having any fun. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Or, no, I won’t, because you’ll never be coming back. He’ll tear into you like you’re an after-dinner mint.”
It was easy to be confident at this point. He knew that what he said was true. The Mad King didn’t like being interrupted and was absolutely uninterested in a petty squabble among his minions. In fact, Merlin was willing to bet his success tonight would be viewed by the asshole as a mark of maturity. He’d be amused by Merlin’s audacity—or not. This night might end with a reduction in his complement of mercenaries, would definitely do so given the way the air stirred among the now-silent men as they considered his words and their next move. Dracul might not appreciate that outcome.
Can’t be helped.
The first attack came from an unexpected source. It wasn’t the loudmouth, but a quiet, almost-skinny man who simply put down the baseball he’d been tossing and came charging at him. He punched without pausing, a wide swing that was easy to avoid. The man was likely fast for a human. Merlin was faster. He was past the guy in the blink of an eye, grabbing his arm and twisting it. The sharp snap was followed by a bellow. There might have been more angry noises, except as Merlin brought the broken limb up behind its owner’s back, he grabbed his neck with his other hand. He’d intended to merely snap that, too, but in the last second, something primeval took him over.
He latched on to the nape and tore into it. The fresh blood flooded into his mouth. And, sweet Queen, how glorious it was. It was far better than the microwaved stuff he’d been fed with his recent maturity. As the warm, salty liquid flowed down his throat, it was like an itch being scratched that he’d never realized he suffered from. He spat out the flesh while tossing the body to the floor. He briefly faced Mateo, whose eyes were wide with horror. Merlin dared to wink at him before whirling to face the others.
“That was fun! I wonder how much better the sex will be?” He licked his gory lips. “Who’s next?”
A ripple of unease swept the room. Six pairs of eyes flickered between him and their dead comrade. Merlin could practically see how they weighed what to do next and he could actually hear their hearts beating wildly and the rush of blood through their veins. There was fear there, but anger, too. He hadn’t quite convinced them to give him what he wanted. There would be more fighting, more blood. If they rushed him, it would be difficult for him to stay on top, except that kind of thinking got a person dead. Val had said you had to believe you would succeed without a hint of doubt or you were doomed.