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Husband takes wife on business trip - and they take her.
I should wring your neck right now, but he will require you when he wakes."
Danny stared up at the tall, broad-shouldered stranger with wide, uncomprehending eyes. The man looked like some kind of urban angel in a pale, pristine suit and long, ivory coloured overcoat. His long, white hair was drawn back in a braid that fell to his waist and his handsome, sun-tanned face seemed ageless. The gaze that the stranger fixed on him was the colour of sunlit amber or burnished bronze. It was a solemn, pitiless expression. Danny shivered helplessly, unable to move. He could not feel his body at all. It had become an alien, unreachable thing, refusing to respond to the signals his brain sent it, signals telling it to get to its feet and run like hell.
After a little while, Jabez sat down again on the end of the bed observing Rayne Wylde in contemplative silence. Not for the first time, he debated whether this was the right course of action. Yet again, his mind told him that it was the 'only' course. Any other would have seen Wylde into his grave tonight. His eyes drank in the pale, heart-shaped face, wrapped in dark, ragged curls and the way his thick, sable lashes fanned across his cheeks. His eyelids were almost translucent. Every flicker of his eyes beneath them made Jabez Everman's heart thump just once. One hand rested on his breast and the ancient creature let his gaze follow the twists and turns in the silver, celtic-knot ring on his index finger like steps in a meditation.
It was not in his nature to weep. He had not shed tears for over seven centuries but his heart weighed heavy in his chest as he waited. At last he let his head sink into his hands and rested his eyes. He had been bowed over like this for some time when the bedclothes rustled quietly beside him and he lifted his head immediately. Rayne was staring blankly at him, a bewildered expression on his gaunt, handsome face.
"Who the fuck are 'you'?" he croaked weakly. "What happened? Where 'am' I?"
Rayne listened almost impassively as the tall, imposing stranger told him in soothing, unhurried words what had come to pass during the night. He recalled the fits coming on, struggling suddenly to breathe as though a hand had closed tight over his windpipe, strangling him by degrees. Then there had been nothing; he had slipped backward into a dark, cold place and lain there for an age.
Since waking, he had been overcome by a wrongness that he could not account for. It had taken him nearly an hour, listening as the man called Jabez Everman told of what had been done whilst he was unconscious, to realise that he was hearing things and feeling things that were outside his normal sphere of awareness. He could smell food cooking in the kitchens five floors down and - closer to home - he could smell Danny's lean, warm, vibrant body on the next bed. In spite of his anxiety, that recalled the night before to him more clearly. Thinking back on what they had done, he could virtually taste Danny's tongue, and cock, in his mouth. More disturbingly, he could smell the youngster's blood; the raw, iron tang of it in the back of his throat made his stomach churn queasily, but it was not the discomfort of nausea, it felt more like extreme hunger pangs.
His hearing was more acute. The conversations of people in other rooms kept disturbing him and he became uncomfortably aware of an argument which he sensed involved Matty and Si' who were taking his side against Charley. They were 'discussing' him in his absence! An irrational anger surfaced and he forced it down again, trying to listen 'and' make sense of what the handsome stranger was telling him.
"I feel wobbly," he said hoarsely at one point.
"That is because you require sustenance," said Jabez. He pressed a smile onto his face, which presumably he hoped was comforting. It only served to make Rayne feel more nervous.
"I never eat in the morning," the singer declared. "It makes me sick."
"You are newly Turned," Jabez pointed out incomprehensibly.