Slave Dance

By Samantha Cayto

What lurks in the dark is not always a monster. Sometimes it's your deepest desire.

Quiet and steadfast, Emil has remade himself from botanist to chef. Taking care of people is what he does best. He hates having to fight the war with Dracul, but his loyalty to his captain forces him to do no less. Unlike others of his species, he has formed no intimate bonds and has no intention of doing so. That way lies sadness. He takes his pleasure from feeding those he loves, content with his destiny. That is until he runs into an abused boy who needs more than a good meal.

All turning eighteen means to Jase is that now the man who he is forced to call Master can abuse him publicly. A victim of sex trafficking, Jase only knows one way of life-brutal submission to whichever man claims him. When his Master joins Club Lux, it's more of the same until he finds himself in the hands of its strange chef.

Circumstances force Emil into a new and frightening role and Jase into the arms of a scary and unfathomable Master. Emil is worse than any man—or so Jase thinks, when Emil's alien nature comes out. Jase wants to be a good slave and Emil frets about saving Jase from himself. While they try to find their way, a vicious crew member begins to terrorize Boston. Now Emil fights on two fronts—the scariest being that he will fail Jase.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pride Publishing
• Release date: Oct 2, 2018
• ISBN: 9781786516909

Samantha Cayto

Samantha Cayto is a Boston-area native who practices as a business lawyer by day while writing erotic romance at night—the steamier the better. She likes to push the envelope when it comes to writing about passion and is delighted other women agree that guy-on-guy sex is the hottest ever. She lives a typical suburban life with her husband, three kids and four dogs. Her children don't understand why they can't read what she writes, but her husband is always willing to lend her a hand—and anything else—when she needs to choreograph a scene.

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Publisher

Slave Dance

ISBN # 978-1-78651-690-9

©Copyright Samantha Cayto 2018

Cover Art by Cherith Vaughn ©Copyright October 2018

Edited by Jamie D. Rose

Pride Publishing

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Pride Publishing.

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Pride Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

Published in 2018 by Pride Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK.

Pride Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

Alien Blood Wars

SLAVE DANCE

Samantha Cayto

Book three in the Alien Blood Wars series

What lurks in the dark is not always a monster. Sometimes it’s your deepest desire.

Quiet and steadfast, Emil has remade himself from botanist to chef. Taking care of people is what he does best. He hates having to fight the war with Dracul, but his loyalty to his captain forces him to do no less. Unlike others of his species, he has formed no intimate bonds and has no intention of doing so. That way lies sadness. He takes his pleasure from feeding those he loves, content with his destiny. That is, until he runs into an abused boy who needs more than a good meal.

All turning eighteen means to Jase is that now the man he is forced to call Master can abuse him publicly. A victim of sex trafficking, Jase knows only one way of life—brutal submission to whichever man claims him. When his master joins Club Lux, it’s more of the same until he finds himself in the hands of its strange chef.

Circumstances force Emil into a new and frightening role and Jase into the arms of a scary and unfathomable Master. Emil is worse than any man—or so Jase thinks when Emil’s alien nature comes out. Jase wants to be a good slave and Emil frets about saving Jase from himself. While they try to find their way, a vicious crew member begins to terrorize Boston. Now Emil is fighting on two fronts—the scariest being that he will fail Jase.

Trademarks Acknowledgement

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Fenway Park: Boston Red Sox Baseball Club Limited Partnership

Gillette Stadium: The Gillette Company LLC

Canali: Canali Ireland Limited LLC

Red Cross: American Red Cross Incorporated Association

Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company Corporation

Froot Loops: Kellogg Company Corporation

Scarlett O’Hara: Margaret Mitchell

King Kong: King Kong Productions Pty Limited

PowerPoint: Microsoft Corporation

Alice in Wonderland: Lewis Carroll, Disney Enterprises Inc.

Walk on Water: Jerod Leto, Shannon Leto

Eddie Bauer: Eddie Bauer Licensing Services LLC

Dumpster: Topcoat Metal Technologies Inc

Nobel Prize: The Nobel Foundation

Jeep: FCA US LLC

Dolce & Gabbana: Dolce & Gabbana Trademarks SRL LLC

Cinderella: Disney Enterprises Inc.

Coke: Coca-Cola Company

Prologue

Transylvania, 1205

You waste your talents.

Emil ignored both the remark and the man who made it. Instead, he tasted his stew with critical taste buds and decided that more thyme was in order. Supper will be ready soon, he said, still not bothering to look at his unwelcome visitor.

Dracul, as was his want, acted as if he had every right to be there, hovering over Emil’s pot. He sniffed ostentatiously. Human flora. Disgusting.

Some of it is quite tasty, I have found. Regardless, the stores of hydroponics that we were able to salvage are nearly depleted. We need to conserve them if we have any hope of cultivating them here.

Dracul scoffed. As if I care. Plants are plants. There’s no meat in there. Why don’t you add some lamb?

Emil held his temper. Nothing good came from confrontation. There were too many squabbles, large and small, within their own group and in the world around them. I have no interest in slaughtering those adorable creatures to feed us when beans and vegetables do the trick just as well.

Well, I need flesh to be satisfied.

I am aware. The man loved his blood and gore overly much, in Emil’s opinion. Go and kill what you want. I’ll have no part in it. He looked at Dracul for the first time and narrowed his gaze. "I will have no part in any scheme you concoct."

It was as close as he’d come to acknowledging that his compatriot was courting open rebellion against their captain. Why Alex hadn’t killed the man already was a source of concern. The captain was too honorable, in Emil’s estimation.

Dracul did not take the hint. If anything, he got closer, more conspiratorial. We’re going to have to leave this place soon. These stupid humans and their religious crusades are making this area untenable as a home base.

Emil went back to stirring his massive pot of stew. This planet is large enough for us to find a safer place to lie low.

To what end? Dracul bit out. We are stranded here. No one comes to rescue us. We must make of our new life what we can.

Stilling his large ladle, Emil eyed the irritating man. That is what we are doing. I, for example, have mastered a new skill. I find great satisfaction in cooking for our people.

Female work in this miserable place. Dracul’s tone dripped with contempt.

That was enough to bring Emil’s anger to the fore. He whirled from his task and braced for a fight. You overstep the bounds of decency when you speak of females as if they hold no importance. Anything that I am able to accomplish even half so well as a woman, I would take pride in.

He stepped closer and felt a spark of satisfaction when Dracul drew back. Emil didn’t like to throw his size around, preferring the quiet life of a scientist. But, he wasn’t one to run from a fight, either. Far from it. Reining in his temper had always been something he struggled with.

I care nothing of your opinion of me or what you consider worthy. If my cooking offends you, find your own food. You’ll do as you wish, regardless. He turned back to the bubbling pot again, ignoring his growing urge to beat Dracul to a bloody pulp and drain him dry.

You’re right about that, the man conceded. I am done with squatting among dumb animals. Here, we can be rulers. These human are puny primitives. Why not take what’s laid open before us? He leaned in, his breath hissing against Emil’s ear. You could live like a queen, with as many pretty boys at your beck and call as you could ever want. Think of the power. Think of the blood!

Because it was hard these days to think of anything else but the taste of salty, warm blood dripping down his throat, Emil’s self-control snapped. This time, when he turned to Dracul, he did so with a raised fist. He smashed the man in the face, sending him flying away, although Dracul flipped to his feet the second after he fell.

"I am not a queen! The very notion is obscene. I was a worker and a drone for my hive—and gladly so. Here, I can’t be as I was, yet I’m still useful to what hive we have. This—he emphasized by jabbing a finger at this pot—is what I do. I am content with that, and I am loyal to our captain. Go peddle your poison somewhere else."

Dracul stared daggers at him, wiping the blood from his cut lip with the back of his hand. Then he licked it before saying, Very well. You would have been a fierce ally, but I’m not worried about your being an adversary, either.

With deliberate steps, Dracul approached. Emil kept his gaze on him, although he needn’t have worried. Dracul wasn’t spoiling for a fight, the coward. Instead, he spit some blood into the stew.

There. Now at least it has something in it worthy of a warrior.

Emil watched the man stalk off and returned to his task of finishing the stew only when Dracul was out of sight. The peace he found in his cooking was gone. And now he knew for certain that Dracul was mounting a mutiny. Alex would have to be warned. Emil could only hope that enough of the others stayed loyal to their leader and hadn’t been courted successfully by Dracul.

No matter. If it came to a fight, Emil would gladly die by Alex’s side rather than live Dracul’s promised life as a conqueror. Not even the temptation of someone for his own could sway him. Better to live his life alone than take pleasure with a slave. And in a world where Emil’s size and strength caused fear among the native peoples, could he ever trust that a human was with him out of genuine desire? No, he thought not. So, he’d find his pleasure in his food.

That was the one sure way he could make someone happy.

Chapter One

Boston, 2017

Emil entered his empty kitchen just as the eastern sky started to turn rosy. He liked working before others typically came looking for freshly prepared meals. The peace appealed to him. He liked cooking on his own, too—not that he didn’t appreciate the staff that Alex provided him. Sometimes it was nice to go back to his roots of concocting massive quantities of food for his shipmates. He took great satisfaction in pleasing them, even in this small way. It certainly was more attractive than fighting some bloody human war beside them. He did that as well, of course, yet he simply enjoyed stuffing them with canapes more.

And this day was particularly important. It wasn’t only his own kind he would be cooking for. It wasn’t some ordinary meal or even a big feast to celebrate a victory. This was a unique event for them. After a thousand years on this planet, this was the first time any of them were getting married. Not even Harry and Lucien had been afforded the opportunity to go through this most human of rituals, having made quick work of their marriage at city hall years after they’d produced their son. Val and Mackie were treading new ground, and Emil was determined that their big, important day would be perfect.

Everything was set, the main floor having been closed to the members and turned into a kind of natural church. Not that Emil had had anything to do with that. No, Quinn and the other boys—under Mackie’s critical eye—had set it all up complete with beautiful decorations that gave homage to the humans’ many holidays at year end. It looked like something out of a human fairytale and Emil wasn’t surprised. Mackie loved beauty, and Val loved Mackie. The bratty boy was getting his way in all things, and his joyous appreciation belied his label. Mackie was no bridezilla. Having come from so little, he valued how much he was given.

Emil wanted his contribution—the food and wedding cake—to be as perfect as he could make it. He grabbed a big mug of the pre-brewed coffee and entered his enormous walk-in refrigerator. The five-layer chocolate cake with hazelnut cream filling stood right where he’d left it the night before. He eyed it critically, checking to make sure the fondant was flawless. He’d sprayed it a light silver and festooned it with red and black icing roses. The flavor had been Mackie’s choice, but he’d left the decorating to Emil. Honoring the colors favored by his people had been an odd choice by human standards, but Emil believed that Val deserved them. It was his wedding, too, and despite his show of indulging only Mackie, the man’s nerves were easy to spot.

Poor Val.

Fortunate Val.

In less than twelve hours, he was going to stand in front of family and friends and pledge himself forevermore to his beloved boy. He would have someone to warm his bed, source his blood and eventually bear his sons. It was hard not to feel envious, except Emil knew how hard their journey had been. To find a human who could accept a lover who was an alien vampire was extraordinary. Some of his compatriots had been lucky in that. Others, like Dracul, had simply taken whatever they’d wanted. Emil had long ago made peace with the idea that being alone was better than being a monster.

He took a long gulp of his coffee, enjoying the almost instant buzz it gave him. He studied the cake some more, tempted to fuss over it. It was perfect, however, even if he said so himself. Best to get on with marinating the tenderloins and prepping for the side dishes and the hors d’oeuvres. Returning to the kitchen, he set about doing just that. He turned on the radio to listen to classical music. The variety of human music delighted him and he enjoyed the often raucous genres that normally infused the club. Here in his domain, however, he liked soothing, and there was no one to even roll their eyes at his choices.

Mise en place. There was an order and a rhythm to cooking that he welcomed. Everything needed to be laid out for him to begin to build the components of his menu. He had his lists and utensils. There was almost nothing available in the world of cooking that he didn’t possess. There was one long stainless-steel prepping table that only he used. It was spotless because he had made sure it was. He wasn’t one to delegate menial tasks to others. Pride forced him to scrub and order his work space as if the queen herself would walk in and do an inspection.

Not that she existed on this puny world…or ever would. He’d met her only once and could still conjure up the exquisite pleasure of the one time he’d serviced her as a good drone should. That memory served him well in the hours when he lay in his big bed all by himself, making do with his hand. But he didn’t bring it out often. No, he would never disrespect the woman in that way. Instead, he liked to imagine a pretty human boy in his bed. He’d always liked them, even though he avoided such entanglement for the most part. They were too delicate and he was too hulking and strong. He worried that his big hands would crush them like they sometimes did with small foods.

Unlike the little amuse-bouches that he intended to prepare for the wedding, however, he didn’t try to navigate humans. One could always toss away damaged food. Not so, damaged people.

Hey, Chef.

Emil looked up from what he was doing, surprised to find his sous chef, Damien, sauntering in. The guy looked like he’d come straight from a night out clubbing. What are you doing here so early?

The kid gave him a tired smile as he headed straight for the coffee. Seriously? This is…like, the big day, right? I knew you’d be up before the birds, cooking your heart out. No pre-made sandwiches or cold salads for the happy couple, right? Thought I’d come give you a hand.

Damien filled a mug and came over. His short, dark hair stood in gelled spikes and his neck tattoos showed above the collar of his too-thin jacket. The boy didn’t take nearly good enough care of himself. "Holy crap, Chef! I knew you’d go overboard, but you do know that the entire city hasn’t been invited, right?"

Emil stared down at his prep table. I want to make sure there’s plenty of variety and no one goes hungry.

Damien snorted. You could pass this out to everyone at Fenway Stadium and still have leftovers.

Emil sniffed. It’s the wrong season for baseball.

Damien grinned over the rim of his mug. Okay, so make it Gillette Stadium. Same dif. He shook his head. Is that the marinade for the beef?

Yup. He had two big bowls filled already. While he’d never gotten over his reluctance to slaughter animals for cooking himself, he wasn’t above making do with the sanitized version found in supermarkets. And everyone did enjoy a nice cut of well-seasoned meat.

I’ll get the tenderloins soaking for you. Damien reached for one of the bowls.

You don’t have to. You look dead on your feet. Go home and get some sleep then come in at your regular time.

Come on, Chef. Don’t be a control freak. I’ve got this. I may have been up all night and got fucked silly by this totally hot construction worker…but I’m young. I can sleep when I’m dead. He shot Emil a cocky grin. Besides, I like helping you out. I haven’t forgotten how you gave me a chance when I was just some snotty-nosed kid with zero training.

That reminder of Damien’s difficult past and how much the boy appreciated the opportunity Emil had given him was what allowed Emil to let go. You’re right, he said, holding up his hands. I’ve got other things to do and I appreciate the help. After you get the meat marinating, start killing the lobsters. You know how I hate that, he added with a sigh. Lambs or crustaceans… Emil had a soft spot for them both. It was humans and his own kind that he could kill when necessary, because they gave him reason to, unfortunately.

Damien grinned broadly. You’re just an old softy, Chef.

It also made him uncomfortable being called something that he officially wasn’t. Much as he’d wanted to, he’d never had the chance to attend a culinary institute. As a self-taught cook, he shouldn’t answer to the title of ‘chef’ but he’d long given up correcting his staff. Maybe someday when Dracul and his minions had been permanently destroyed, he could indulge himself by going to school. There was always something new to learn.

In the meantime, he could strive for such normalcy as the internecine war permitted. Today was the most important cooking day of his life. Everything had to be perfect. With the two of them working, the time passed quickly. Emil was ultimately grateful for both the help and the company. It was breakfast before he knew it, so he started on the more mundane task of cooking eggs, bacon and toast for the hordes that were about to descend from the living quarters.

Mackie was the first to come flying in, with Demi in his wake. He had some kind of green goo slathered all over his face. Emil, I have to see the cake! Please say I can. He rushed over to the counter. Ooh, bacon.

Mackie! Demi cried out. Don’t eat yet or you’ll crack your mask. You’re not even supposed to be talking.

Emil picked up a slice of bacon and handed it over. Here. We can’t have you fainting at your own wedding. And what’s the stuff on your face supposed to do, anyhow?

Clean and tighten his pores, Demi huffed. It’s his big day, after all.

Your skin is perfect already, Emil told the groom with a smile, which broadened as he watched the boy consume the bacon with a blissful look. And of course you can see your cake. Come on.

He led him over to the walk-in refrigerator and opened the door with a flourish. For a few seconds, Mackie said nothing. He simply stood and stared. Then he gasped.

Oh, it’s gorgeous. He turned moist eyes toward Emil. It’s like something you’d see on TV.

Oh my God, Demi moaned. Don’t cry. That will ruin your mask, too.

I don’t care. Mackie flung himself into Emil’s arms. Thank you so much. If I weren’t already madly in love with Val, I’d marry you instead.

Stunned by the praise and affection, Emil awkwardly hugged him back. It gives me great pleasure to make you happy. He tried not to worry about the green stuff getting on his whites.

Am I going to have to kill you, Emil, for stealing my boy? Val drawled out the question as he sauntered into the kitchen and headed for breakfast.

Both Demi and Mackie shrieked. Mackie jumped away from Emil and turned his back to his fiancé. Val, what are you doing here?

Yeah, Demi chimed in, using his body to shield Mackie from Val’s line of sight. You’re not supposed to see him before the wedding starts.

Val paused with a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth. Why the fuck not? I just spent the night with my dick up his ass. Doesn’t that count as ‘seeing him’?

Don’t be crude, Mackie called out as he inched his way over to the door. I can always change my mind about marrying you.

Val snorted. I don’t think so. Try it and I’ll be forced to add a paddling into the ceremony.

There was another gasp from Mackie and a giggle before he and Demi left the room. Come back and get your breakfast when Val is gone, Emil called after them with a shake of his head.

Val grabbed a plate and started filling it with food. I’ll pile on enough for the two of them and take it up. He shook his head. Do you understand any of this nonsense?

No, Emil replied, shutting the refrigerator door. But your fiancé does and that’s all that matters, right?

Val shrugged. He shot Emil a wistful expression. "Yeah, I guess