Area of Influence Read online

  As Thor suspected had been Pierre’s goal the entire time.

  The master loved to play with people’s minds and their lives. The pleasure Pierre got from his manipulations was sickening. And more and more, Thor had become aware of it all. Aware that everything was only a game to the master vampire. And while he was currently in the master’s favor, that could change on a dime.

  Thor had started to question everything he’d been led to believe. Seattle had been his breaking point. He’d been loaned out to Helmuth, who had been in charge of the Seattle paranormal underground scene. Helmuth orchestrated fight clubs that held death matches between supernaturals that he’d captured and forced to compete. Pierre had been fine with that behavior. It wasn’t until Helmuth had partnered up with Gisbert Krauss that Pierre had taken note. Pierre had a working relationship with Krauss as well, getting many of his children from the mad scientist.

  Krauss had taken to creating what could only be called berserkers for Helmuth. The berserkers were huge, way more powerful than the average supernatural male, and often looked like the stuff of nightmares. The one Thor had stood against while in Seattle was easily over seven feet tall and had about fifty eyes. A rocket launcher had taken it out, spreading creature goo everywhere in the process.

  Whatever the creature had been prior to Krauss getting his hands on it was long gone. All that had remained was a monster.

  From Thor’s understanding, the creatures had been engineered to be sure bets against other supernaturals in the fighting rings for Helmuth. Guaranteed gladiators, who would bring in high-dollar clients to watch them slaughter others, but they’d been too hard to control, and had gone on killing rampages more than once in the city.

  He pushed up from the bed and began to pace, feeling agitated as the past forced its way into his mind. It bubbled up inside of him like nervous energy, demanding he remember, as if some clue lie hidden within the horrors of his past. He balled his fists, tempted to beat his frustrations out on the wall until he was too exhausted to stand. Maybe then his mind would let him rest.

  Thor had found himself fighting with an operative from the other side to battle the berserker, as well as botched hybrids that were under Helmuth’s control. Thor had fought against Helmuth and his creations, knowing full well it might cost him his life should Pierre learn the truth.

  Thankfully, Pierre’s mistrust of the men he aligned himself with had played to Thor’s advantage. It meant Pierre was quick to buy the lies Thor had spun. And spun he had upon his return. He’d told him partial truths, that Helmuth had been a gargoyle and had gone insane, and that Helmuth had unleashed the berserker on Thor. Wisely, Thor left out the bit about helping operatives from the other side.

  Thankfully, the master had believed him. Helmuth was still a wanted man, and should he cross paths with any of Pierre’s associates, he’d more than likely be killed on sight.

  More than once, Thor had helped those whom Pierre labeled the enemy. The operatives Pierre seemed to detest continued to surprise Thor. Though he’d been told that whenever his mission overlapped one of the other operatives, he was to take the kill if presented, that had not been what happened. Each time he’d found himself near an Immortal Op (I-Op) or a Paranormal Security & Intelligence Operative (PSI-Op), Thor had ended up aiding in their mission and disregarding his own.

  He didn’t know why, but their fight and their cause resonated with Thor far more than his master’s did.

  Follow the master’s orders without question.

  Yet it seemed impossible. He was constantly at war with himself. His shifter side wanting to kill the master. His vampire side wanting to obey to a point. And the side that was just a man was lost in the inner struggle.

  All he knew for certain was that he was fundamentally broken. His will to serve the master was all but gone. Each day he had to remind himself who he served, and that the others were, in fact, the enemy.

  Still, nothing seemed to satisfy his growing hunger to kill his master.

  To bite the hand that had given him life was foolish and unheard of. He should have been filled with gratitude for the master vampire. Yet, each time Thor found himself near Pierre, he had to restrain his inner beast to keep it from lashing out at the man.

  Thor was considered special to the master. A prized pet. Though he found himself with competition as of late. A newly sired hybrid had joined the mix in the last month, and Pierre had shown great interest in the man.

  Pierre had given the man the name of Beowulf, and had started to watch the newcomer with the same intensity he did Thor. Desire emanated from the master whenever Thor was in his presence and, before the arrival of Beowulf, Thor hadn’t noticed Pierre doing it to any of his other pets.

  A little piece of him was thankful that Pierre’s attention was being pulled in the direction of Beowulf, the shiny new toy. It meant a small reprieve from the master’s lust-filled looks. Yet another part of Thor felt bad for the newcomer. Being the center of Pierre’s attention wasn’t fun.

  Thor would know. He’d been in the position for just over a year, if his count was right. The first few weeks after his rebirth had been fuzzy and blended together. No one had given him hard timelines, so he wasn’t sure how long he’d actually spent under Pierre’s thumb to start with. It was beginning to feel like forever.

  He took a deep breath, stretching his sore muscles. The dream had taken its toll on his body. His chest still ached. He rubbed it once more and walked to the bathroom off his bedroom. His sleeping quarters were extremely nice. As with everything involving Pierre, no expense had been spared.

  Once in the bathroom, Thor flipped on the light, even though it wasn’t needed. The bathroom was done all in calacatta marble. There were double sinks and a separate toilet room. The walk-in shower was so big that several people could have fit in it—not that he’d ever tried. Thor had never used the large soaking tub either.

  He looked at his reflection in the giant mirror and noticed blood dripping from his nose. That was happening more and more too. It used to be accompanied by head-splitting pain. He wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, his focus going to his chest. There were no marks there. Nothing to indicate a source of the pain, yet it was there.

  Phantom pain, he thought, running his fingers over his smooth skin. The faint smell of gunfire filtered over him again. Was that a phantom smell to go along with the pain? Was he remembering something?

  Thor turned the water on and bent, cupping his hands in the sink. Cool water filled his hands, and he splashed it on his face, chasing away the blood and some of the unease he’d woken with. He remained like that for several minutes, continuing to splash his face with water.

  He went to the giant walk-in shower and turned the water on, letting it heat. Once the bathroom had filled with steam, Thor slid off his silk pajama bottoms and stepped into the hot stream of water, letting it sluice over his body. He took the bar of vanilla-scented soap and rubbed it in his hands, building it to a lather. He ignored the smell of the soap, associating it with Pierre. He then began to wash, the hot water helping to loosen his sore muscles and chase away the phantom pains in his chest.

  As Thor’s hands slid lower, he found his cock hardening under the weight of his touch. While the opportunity to have sex was offered to him nearly nightly, he had yet to act upon it. Pierre’s other pets seemed to relish offering blood and sex to one another—the master included. The idea of being with any of them sickened Thor.

  He’d see to his own needs.

  He closed his long fingers around the girth of his cock and turned away from the showerhead, stroking his shaft with the built lather. Closing his eyes, he let his mind wander to what turned him on. Instantly, he conjured a mental image of a tanned woman with olive undertones to her skin. His focus was her legs to start. She was tiny compared to him, and he liked that. It turned on his alpha side, knowing he’d be her protector as well as her lover. It didn’t matter that she was merely a figment of his imagination. Fo
r now, she was real.

  He pumped his hard, long cock, his mind still drawing images of his ideal woman. He could clearly make out the juncture of her thighs. Dark hair was neatly maintained on her mound, as if marking her sweet spot for him. Not that he’d need a map or anything. Deep down, he knew he could more than please a woman.

  “Pfft, you used to be a total ladies’ man,” he said, gasping as he realized he’d remembered something of his past. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it.

  As he continued to work the lather over his cock, he tipped his head back, letting the water from the showerhead run over his shoulders and down the front of his body.

  He thought of his imaginary woman’s breasts. They were on the small side. He didn’t like overdone ones. He liked them pert and sized just right. As he thought about what her face would look like, he found himself pumping his cock harder and faster. Full lips, a dimpled chin on a heart-shaped face. Large brown eyes, rimmed with thick black lashes. And a head of long, thick, wavy dark brown hair that fell over her shoulders.

  “Ah, yes,” he bit out as his ball sac tightened a second before his cock jerked. Seed erupted from him and was washed down the drain quickly, taking the evidence of his arousal with it.

  Thor expelled a slow, shaky breath, an image of the perfect woman fading fast from his mind. The harsh reality of his existence came over him, reminding him that he was due in the main gathering room soon. He was charged with overseeing the others and keeping them in line. Pierre’s safety was also a task allotted to Thor, though he felt like he might be the biggest risk to the master.

  He finished showering then shut off the water and stood there for a moment, needing to draw on his willpower to keep up the façade that he was still one of Pierre’s adoring minions. It was getting harder and harder to pull off. Soon he’d be discovered.

  He was sure of it.

  He’d gone too long between the feedings that kept his strength at full force, and it had been far too long since he’d last drank from the master. His lip curled at the idea of ingesting Pierre’s blood. It had never tasted right to him. There was always a taint to it he couldn’t explain and didn’t want to dwell on. All he knew for sure was that without Pierre’s blood, he’d eventually die. The master had been clear on that. Clear on the fact he was the giver and could be the taker of life.

  Ingesting the master’s blood was something most of the pets did daily in some manner. Some drank straight from the source and others opted to drink from the bagged supplies of blood that held at least a few drops of Pierre’s blood. Very few bags were untouched by the master’s blood.

  And those were the bags of blood that Thor gravitated toward.

  There was part of the problem.

  “I’m not feeding directly from him either,” said Thor softly, knowing the walls often had ears. Secrets were hard to keep and even harder to live with. Betrayal was almost a given among the pets.

  He toweled off and then headed back into the bedroom. Thor went to his wardrobe and surveyed his clothing options. As one of the master’s favorites, he was provided with anything he wanted or needed. That included money and credit cards. It also included items he had no wish for; such was the case with the black leather skinny pants and black mesh shirt that had been on his bed the night prior.

  Pierre liked to dress his pets in clothing he found attractive. Thor hated it. He was not a child’s plaything to be dressed and led around. He was a man, and he had no intention of wearing the leather outfit.

  More and more, he was taking a stand where he could. He’d stopped shaving his face daily, choosing instead to let a close-cut, sandy-blond beard grow in. His beard had flecks of white blond in it, matching his hair.

  The acts of defiance were small, but they were all he had, and they helped him cope with his daily reality.

  He selected a pair of dark gray, distressed, relaxed-fit jeans and a blood-red pullover cotton T-shirt that fit him snugly. For the last bit, Thor put on the black combat boots he’d bought while in Seattle. They were a sore point between him and the master.

  A knock came on his bedroom door and he tensed. It was rare for anyone to bother him when he was in his room. He sniffed the air and caught the scent of wolf mixed with vampire.

  Beowulf.

  Chapter Two

  The urge to snarl was great as the scent of a man Thor was fast starting to loathe came over him. Opening the door, Thor stood there staring at the man who matched him in height and build. Both stood well over six feet. Beowulf was no slouch in the muscle department either. Already Thor had sparred with him more than once. While he’d managed to best him, it had been a close call each time.

  There was a wildness to the black-haired man. The kind of vibe that said Beowulf had no fear of death, no fear of pain. Beowulf’s blue gaze always held a level of crazy that was normally reserved for the most broken of Pierre’s pets. It was simply the man’s everyday look.

  Thor often wondered if he too was showing outward signs of insanity. “What do you want?”

  Beowulf folded his arms over his leather-vest-covered chest. Leather bands circled his wrists, and he wore matching black leather pants. It was clear the master had selected his clothes as well. Though Beowulf didn’t seem to have an issue with them, which surprised Thor. “You’re a dick.”

  Thor prepared for a possible attack. “Came all the way up here to tell me that? How sweet of you.”

  “Yep. Dick,” said Beowulf, clearly sizing Thor up for a rematch.

  He stepped back from the doorway. “You seem really focused on my dick. Something I should know?”

  Beowulf’s gaze darkened. “No.”

  “Good to know. With what you’re wearing, I was getting worried.”

  Beowulf snorted. “I didn’t care enough about the outfit to put up a fight over it. And I didn’t come up here to fight either.”

  “Could have fooled me,” said Thor as he considered taking the first punch. “I generally assume anyone calling me a dick doesn’t have my best interests at heart.”

  Beowulf shrugged. “I don’t like you. That isn’t really a state secret or anything.”

  “Feeling is mutual.” Their last sparring match had left both men nursing wounds. That was telling, as they weren’t exactly easy to hurt as hybrids.

  The other man rubbed his jaw, grinning slightly. The guy was seriously disturbed. “Master wants a word with you.”

  “He’s risen already?” asked Thor, surprised that he hadn’t sensed as much. It meant his bond to Pierre was weakening more and more with each passing day.

  Beowulf lifted a dark brow. He jutted out his chin, his beard closely cut. His long hair was down tonight, falling to mid-back. He had a cover-model-meets-biker vibe to him that seemed to greatly appeal to Pierre. Versus Thor’s Nordic godlike appearance, as the master had so often referred to it. “You didn’t sense him wake?”

  Shit.

  Thor cleared his throat and shook his head. There was no point in lying so he went with a truth that could help explain it away. “I’ve not fed in days.”

  Beowulf continued to watch him. For a moment, Thor wondered if the man had changed his mind about coming up to start a fight. It wouldn’t have shocked him. Beowulf had a short fuse.

  “How is it you resist the pull of blood?” asked Beowulf, his demeanor moving from threatening to curious in a matter of seconds.

  The topic had come up more than once in Thor’s time under Pierre’s thumb. With every new batch of hybrids brought on, there was always one who wanted to know Thor’s secrets to waiting so long between blood feedings. While he didn’t like Beowulf, he hated the idea of being forced to live off blood more. From the genuine expression on Beowulf’s face, he wasn’t a big fan of having to answer to the bloodlust either.

  With a sigh, Thor told him the truth. “I have discipline. I channel the need into the task at hand or working out.”

  “Why not just feed?” asked Beowulf, something off in his voice.

&n
bsp; Thor had seen the man’s repulsion at the fact they required blood to survive. It had been fleeting but there during Beowulf’s conversion period. Because of the man’s brute strength, Thor had been brought in early in the process to help control him. It was the first time Thor had been privy to the conversion process. He didn’t remember his own, but he did know that he’d been out of commission for a long period of time during it all. The little bits he’d pieced together of the time weren’t pretty. It had been painful and horrifying. An honest-to-God rebirth.

  During Beowulf’s conversion, he’d been taken off bagged blood and a woman had been brought in. She was so deeply mesmerized by Pierre that she hadn’t had any real clue of the danger she’d been in.

  Thor knew. He’d understood she wouldn’t walk away from the ordeal. He’d been outnumbered, and he also knew if he dared try to save the human woman, he’d have been killed or worse—taken to Pierre’s dungeons. Alive, he could try to right some of the master’s wrongs; dead, he was of no help to anyone. He had to pick and choose his battles.

  Beowulf had done his best to resist the urge to feed from the woman. Pierre had cut her throat enough to entice the newly turned hybrid, but not enough to let the woman die quickly. She’d bled out slowly, Beowulf there, smelling the blood, a hunger gnawing at him that no one other than a newly sired vampire could understand.

  Thor had been shocked at the man’s restraint, but he knew it would be short-lived. And it had been. The memory of it all still haunted Thor. He also knew deep down that something similar had more than likely been done while he was converting. And clearly, he’d done as Beowulf had—he’d surrendered to the bloodlust and lived to see another day.