The Brotherhood 3: The Dragon's Tongue Page 4
But then ... then ...
Oh.
Voices. Voices echoing from nowhere, chiming inside his pounding head.
Ready?
Is he ready, ready, ready?
The whispers, tenor and bass, cut straight through the blaring thumpa-thumpa music and made a double beeline for Collin’s chest and cock. His blood began to sprint through his veins, running hot, fast, quick, pulse pounding.
He stopped in his tracks, reaching out to snag Liam by the upper arm. “Wait, wait! Do you hear them now?”
“Hear whom?”
“Quiet!” Collin frowned hard in concentration.
Not yet, spoke the first.
No. Not just yet, his fellow answered. Back and forth they went, each one’s speech bleeding into the sound of the other’s words.
A pity.
Shame. Pity. Yes.
Soon?
Very soon.
How?
Alteration. Change in the state of being.
In him?
Not him, Collin, him, no. Alteration of this place.
Ah, yes. Change the seeming, alteration of this place.
Not just the seeming. Change in the state of being. The reality.
Shifting sands, sands, sands?
Desert tides.
Draw in your breath. Fire breath. With me.
Yes. Yes, yes. Blow, now. Blow.
Blow it all away.
Scour clean the soul.
Uncover hidden fires.
Stoke up well-banked coals.
Burn.
Yes. Spark, ignite, burn.
Blaze.
Now?
Almost.
Collin clamped his hands to his ears, trying to shut out the soft, whisper-licking voices teasing around his skull. Tendrils of burring male voices twining inside his brain. Invasive vines of sound and fury.
Dignity and corporate polish be hanged!
“Stop it,” he shouted. “Stop!”
He felt a small hand on his arm and slitted his eyes open to see Liam staring up at him, every inch deeply concerned. “Collin, what ails you?”
“Can’t -- you -- hear -- them?” Collin gritted. “They’re everywhere!”
“What? What is everywhere?”
“The voices! Whispers. They’re rolling around in my mind!”
“Ahh.” Liam nodded. He looked sad. “I warned them you would not fall so easily as a leaf from a branch. Cautioned them to be careful. I suppose, in their way, they are taking great care. You have not seen them yet, have you?”
“Seen? Seen who? I’m warning you, Liam, I am far past being patient. I really suggest you tell me before I decorate your face with my fist. What is going on?”
Liam patted Collin’s hand. “It will be well. Patience. I know what I am doing. I brought most of the Brotherhood here to take their chances, but you? You are special, Collin, as is David, and another one or two among our numbers.
“For you, I laid plans and mapped out groundwork. I see you for what you are. I sought out who you needed. What you crave, even if you do not know as much. I think you do not.”
Collin heard the whisper-voices chuckling. Tongues of fire licked against the inner walls of his mind. He groaned. “Shut them up. Please.”
“No.”
“Liam. Make them be quiet. Do it. Now.”
“I cannot. They were given a key; they have used this key; it is in the lock and cannot be withdrawn.”
“Key?”
“You will understand in time. Poor Collin. You cannot believe in anything that is not cold and solid as ice and before your very eyes, can you? Yet you hear these voices and cannot deny their reality. It confuses you, yes? Badly so.”
Collin glared.
“I thought as much.” Liam reached up to lay a finger over Collin’s lips. “Let them speak their piece, and they will leave you alone for the time being.”
“But --”
“Hush, now. Hush.”
Collin clenched his fists. “No.”
Liam sighed. “Stubborn to the end ...” He stretched up on tip-toe, pressing five fingertips to each of Collin’s temples. Tingles sparked through the larger man’s brain, little fireworks exploding in fiery blazes of color.
Light ... and sound.
He is better now?
Better, better, better. Hss.
Hss. Our words cause him pain?
Yes. Much pain.
I did not realize. How to remedy the malady?
Silence, brother-lover.
No words?
None, none, none.
How to teach him, then? How to tell him?
By showing him. No voices. Hands. Lips. Eyes. Cocks. Warmth.
Gentle fires.
Warming hearths.
Ignite a slow-burning blaze.
Yes. Yes, yes.
So long. More difficult. It must be this way?
No choice. Would you have him run?
Nay, nay, nay. He must stay. He is ours.
Gifted.
Chosen.
Ours.
He will be led. Guided.
Good enough. We wait. We make ready.
Yes. We wait. And not for long ...
Collin yelled aloud -- rough, hoarse, wordless. He jerked away from the scorching pressure of Liam’s fingers. “What did you do?”
Liam regarded him calmly. “I believe you know. The fire-whisperers came to you again, yes? You heard them speaking with your mind. I can see them in your eyes,” he said, wondering. “Little sparks, dancing all about. So merry and bright!”
“How did you know that they were ... there? Talking to me.”
Liam shrugged. “A guess. I know these creatures of old. Dragons that walk as men ... an amusing conceit,” he added, almost beneath his breath.
“Repeat that?”
“No, I think not. You must needs see to believe. What matter my own words?” Liam’s smile turned sunny. “The methods this type of being uses are not unfamiliar to me. I know how they hunt their chosen prey.” He giggled. “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to yourself.”
Collin shook his head. “Liam ...”
“Trust me. You will love what is to come. Do not dread the fire. It burns away only dross, and leaves behind pure golden treasure.”
Cold chills crept down Collin’s spine. He backed away slowly. “Liam? You’re insane.”
“So I have been told. However, I enjoy myself tremendously.”
“All right. Fine.” You can do this. Cope. Deal. Move on. Collin folded his arms over his chest. “I understand perfectly, all by myself. You slipped me some sort of drug to try and make the monkey dance, but you miscalculated your dosage. I can still see the forest for the trees. There are no such things as ‘fire-whisperers,’ and they are not playing in my brain. These voices? Hallucinations. It’s all just a joke. Ha, ha, Liam. Very funny. All the same -- you lose.”
“No.”
“What?”
“No, I said. I have already won. Though it is hardly a competition.” Liam rubbed Collin’s forearm. “Go and have a drink, eh? There is a lovely bar just across the way. Not here, in the main dance floor. Go to your left, to the far wall, and find the wooden door. Open it. Go inside. There is a quiet pub for men such as you, who need a moment’s stability.”
A small bark of a laugh escaped Collin’s lips. “Liam, honestly! Do you think I’d go anywhere else on your say-so?”
Liam shrugged. “As you wish. You did say you would have one drink, though, and as I recall this pub serves a most excellent Scotch. I suggest you try a glass.” He had the balls to give Collin a gentle shove. “Go on, now. Scoot. The voices will not come to you again until you are ready. This much I promise.”
Collin hesitated. Everything he knew, everything he was, screamed at him to beat feet. Get out of there while he still could. Before he lost enough control to so much as call a taxi.
But ... Scotch. Good Scotch?
Liam watched him, still smiling. The urge to wipe the smirk off his face was overrun by the need for liquid refreshment. Collin scowled at him, saying, “Fine. One drink. The Scotch had better be as good as advertised. Then? I’m leaving. Do you understand?”
Liam bowed. “As you wish, of course.”
Collin snarled under his breath, wished Liam a painful death, turned, and stalked away.
Pretending he didn’t hear Liam’s amused parting shot.
“However, I am sure you will soon change your mind, and be very glad of it indeed ...”
Chapter Five
Once again, Collin entered a part of Amour Magique and found himself rooted stock-still, no more able to move than he might have been to spread his arms and fly.
This club ... it’s a chameleon. It changes when you least expect it. It sees inside your head, and breathes life into your dreams.
No. No, I’m not thinking these things. It’s the drugs. Liam’s club-night cocktail, however he got the junk in my system. Random spasms of brain chemistry.
But to be fair, this is much more like it.
It’s ... rich in here. Mahogany has never been this sexy before. No blaring music. No pool tables. No jukebox. No yeasty reek of beer.
Peaceful. Civilized. Normal. Wonderfully normal.
About time, too.
Collin stepped into the pub. He inhaled deeply. Cold air. Good, cold air. The silk of his shirt was thin enough that goose bumps rippled up on his arms. He looked down at them and grinned. Much better than firebrands.
You knew where you stood with the cold. Chilly? Layer up. Shield yourself. Build a fort. Survive.
If you were too hot? Bad, bad, bad. A man could only be just so naked before he ran out of layers to shed, and helplessly roasted. First sunburn. Pink, peeling skin. Freckles. Then blisters. Blackening muscles. The stink of burning fat. Charring down to the bone.
A man could survive being frozen. He couldn’t face down a bonfire.
Collin was made of ice, and he liked it that way. Liam could go play in Hell if he wanted to change Collin’s mind.
Satisfied, Collin shook his shoulders back, standing tall and proud, the way he did at work. Letting people know here -- here was somebody who was somebody.
Don’t tread on me. This dog bites. Give me what I want, and get out of my way.
Not that anyone looked up to notice him in the least. The pub wasn’t crowded. Its few patrons were sunk eyeball-deep in short glasses of amber whiskey. Some had newspapers, some had PDAs, and one older type played idly with a metal puzzle like a cat’s cradle. Everyone minded their own business.
Collin decided he would like it there.
He managed to hold back a self-satisfied grin as he made his way to the nearby bar. Small, but well-stocked. Old-looking bottles. Just what I like to see. Nothing but quality as far as the eye could see. Alcoholic riches. Strong, smooth treasure that would slide down his throat smooth as silk.
As he approached, a slender Asian man of indeterminate age stationed behind the bar raised his head. Hair cut short, face clean, white shirt spotless. The picture of genteel servitude. “Good evening,” he said. His English was flawless, no accent. “May I be of service to you, sir?”
Collin exhaled, deeply contented. The world was slowly returning to the way it should be. “Scotch,” he said, savoring the word as it rolled over his tongue. “The oldest bottle you have. A double shot. Lots of ice. Don’t forget the ice. It’s important.”
“Sir.” The bartender nodded briefly and turned, military-precise, going straight for the very bottle Collin had pegged as liquid gold. Collin’s grin slipped sideways into a nasty smirk. Oh, yes, this was the ticket.
Scotch flowed into a sparkling short glass. No drips or spills. The bartender presented it to Collin with a clean linen napkin. “Our best, as you requested. The matter of payment is, of course, distasteful, but may I inquire as to how sir intends to settle his bill when comes the time?”
Collin rolled his ice thoughtfully. His smirk grew. “Tell me, do you know a man named Liam?”
The bartender’s face told no tales, but he did nod again. Briefly. “I do, sir. Liam is a popular creature in this establishment.”
Should he? Oh, who could resist? Besides, to his mind, Liam owed him considerably more than a glass of expensive whiskey.
“Put it on his tab.”
“As sir wishes.”
Score. Collin couldn’t help chuckling. He knew how much Scotch this good cost. He only wished he could see Liam’s face when the little pansy got his bill. It’d be a hefty total Collin planned to rack up. Sure, he’d said one drink. But with Scotch this fine, and a night like the one he’d had so far, he thought he might just drink his way through the bottle. Every drop of fluid gold. On Liam’s dime. It would serve him right.
“Thanks.” Collin raised the glass to his nose, inhaling the drink’s rich, peaty vapors. The tinkling ice was music to his ears. “Keep an account open, will you?”
Nod. “Sir.” Pause. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
Collin took a first, curious sip -- and almost orgasmed in his obscene jeans from the taste alone. Merciful ... They sold this stuff in a dance club?
“Sir?”
“I’m ... fine,” Collin managed. “Just ... the tab. Keep it open. Wide open.”
The bartender nodded with no hint of a smile. “Yes, sir. Should you need me when I am otherwise occupied, I am called Li Hsien. Speak my name, and I will come.”
“You’re going somewhere?” Collin took another sip, struggling not to close his eyes in bliss.
“Perhaps.” Li Hsien looked thoughtful. “Customers call, patrons need assistance, and I go where I am needed. Perhaps not always behind this bar. But, ah, forgive my presumption, sir. You seem familiar to me by description. Are you Collin, perhaps?”
Collin frowned. “I beg your pardon? Description? Who described me?”
“Why, the Liam we spoke of earlier, sir. He informed the full staff of Amour Magique regarding all pertinent details relating to his group known by the sobriquet of ‘Brotherhood,’” Li Hsien said smoothly. Lying through his teeth. Collin could tell. Didn’t know how he could tell, but the toady was fibbing like a mother.
“Really.”
“Please forgive me if I have offended. Your next drink will be complimentary, sir. Now, may I suggest you enjoy one of our excellent seats? Perhaps one close to the hearth?”
Collin flinched. “Hearth?”
“Yes, sir. It is to be lit shortly. This room is too cold for many patrons who arrive around this time.”
“No! I mean -- no. Just no.”
“Sir does not enjoy a good fire?”
“Sir does not. Point me as far away from the thing as you can.”
“Just so.” Li Hsien gestured to a shadowy corner. “Please, do sit. Make yourself comfortable and enjoy your Scotch. I will be at hand if you need me.”
At hand, huh? Collin eyed Li Hsien. Coming from any other club-bunny, those words would ring with an undertone of invitation. But somehow, he doubted this bartender served more than drinks. For all that, or perhaps because of it, there was something ... appealing ... about him. Some sort of ... aura.
Aura? What the --
Collin blinked, baffled. Between one sip of booze and the next, Li Hsien had grown a halo. A golden glow of the sort one saw in old paintings of saints and angels.
“You’re ... glowing,” he said stupidly.
Li Hsien didn’t blink. “Yes, sir.”
“Why’re you ...?”
“Please, sir, be seated. You need not concern yourself with this.” Li Hsien gestured to his halo. “It comes, it goes. A harmless thing. Often seen when one has drunk a bit too much.”
“I only had a few sips.”
�
�It is a powerful vintage you hold.”
Collin blinked owlishly at his glass. Powerful? To be sure. “A seat,” he said. His tongue felt thick. “Yeah. Yes. A seat. That’d be good. Really good.”
“Be careful you do not fall, sir.”
“Sure. Not fall,” Collin mumbled. He staggered away from the bar. His feet didn’t exactly know how to walk a straight line. Weird. He kept a good tight hold on his glass, though. Not losing a precious drop of his drink.
He peered at the glass. Scotch. Good Scotch. Made out of rice. Rice? Wait. No. He’d ordered ... hadn’t he?
Tipping his head back, Collin took a curious sip. Heated sake scorched its way down his throat. He choked. “Rice wine? What kind of trick are they playing here?”
About to turn around, march back, and demand to know what Li Hsien had done to his Scotch, Collin licked his lips -- and paused. Licked them again.
Oh, hey. The sake was good. Extra good. Better than the Scotch.
Neat.
“Magic drinks,” Collin giggled. “Like Kool-Aid. Changes colors. Just add alcohol. Shaken, not stirred. Good stuff.” He took another long swallow. The sake scorched him from the inside out. Mmmm, yes.
Still laughing, Collin found a chair and sat down with a solid thump. This was the life. It got no better.
Almost.
Feeling footloose, free, and lazy as the sake warmed his insides, Collin realized he could actually think of one more thing he’d like.
Closing his eyes, he let himself drift away into a waking dream. A fantasy. He hadn’t allowed himself the luxury in years, and it felt so very, very good as he simply let go and set his mind free. The sake made it way too easy. He knew what he wanted, what he craved, and decided to let himself have a taste in the sudden seeming safety of passing fancies.
He allowed himself to imagine ... a man. Not a boy. He didn’t care for jailbait or raw meat. Definitely a man, close to his own age. A few miles on the speedometer. Curly hair? Yes. He liked curls. Good fun to mess up and twine around his fingers. Cute when they woke up after a hard night’s sex work. Yeah. Curls.
Eyes? Dark eyes. Deep brown. Doe eyes. Only, not innocent. Wicked. Sly. Knowing. Sexy. Promising everything he’d ever wanted and more.
His mouth? Generous, wide, full. White teeth. Broad, foxy grin. A pink tongue tracing his lips. Already tasting him, Collin, right where he wanted him. Waiting for Collin to give the word.