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.His wounds though had been no illusion.His hands, of course, but also his slashed skin; he remembered his Master'farewell gift, a whipping that had lasted longer than ever before, Blake's last shouts before they had made him drink, 314Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy]by Kallystenand his throat had burned so badly.He also remembered Marc's gentle hands, cleaning the cuts, cleaning him, for the first time in a very long time touching him without pain immediately coursing through his body.That man—it was hours before Blake finally remembered his name: Simon—had been the first to touch him with anything other than cruelty in mind, Blake remembered as much, but it hadn't mattered, had meant nothing, whereas Marc taking care of him.It had been so confusing to be touched so.It still was.Blake knew now, and thought he understood, that it hadn't been Marc, for all those years.That it couldn't have been, just like it couldn't have been Kate.But it was the same face, the same hands, the same voice he experienced every day, and even now it was hard to separate his Master from Marc.There had been nothing in common between them, he knew that on a very abstract level, but it remained impossible to crush that little voice at the back of his mind that would sometimes wake up and ask questions that never failed to fill Blake with as much fear as annoyance.It had been a long time since the last beating and the next one would be awful, it would say; and Blake would, without success, try to convince himself that there would not be a next beating.His Master hadn't come for his pleasure in too long, it would whimper; and Blake would grit his teeth and conjure images of getting himself off on his own, with no other hand to help or hinder.Images that he couldn't manage to transform into reality, not even now.And Blake hated it.He hated that his mind was still muddy, his memories perfectly clear but so conflicting that 315Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy]by Kallystenthey lost all meaning.He hated the hold that his captivity still had on every one of his actions, however hard he tried to be himself.He hated that he still felt so weak, barely stronger than a human.And he had been almost human, hadn't he? It had been hard to get used to the heartbeat.Harder still to suffer through pangs of hunger when he didn't feed and sickening nausea when he did.He had learned, in time, to keep the blood down, but it had never been pleasant, never been satisfying, not until the three mugs Marc had warmed for him hours earlier.Three full mugs of warm blood, drunk while sitting at a table, when for who knew how long feeding had meant kneeling on the ground and coaxing with nothing more than his lips and tongue what little blood he could from a cut in his Master' wrist, a cut that always closed too fast.It wasn't long before Blake started hating more and more things.He hated that, simply by closing his eyes, he could be back without warning in the cell he had been caged in for so long.He hated not being able to talk.He hated his clothes, soft cotton sweatpants, boxers, white t-shirt, none of it suitable clothing for the warrior he was—wanted to be again.Above all, though, he hated being stuck inside.It was late that night when his discomfort reached the point when the familiar fist closed over his heart and squeezed tight.Remembering the patio, remembering Marc's admonition to take what he wanted, Blake stumbled out of his room and to the living room.He froze just out of the hallway, startled enough by what he found that he had to blink to make sure he wasn't imagining things.316Blurred Bloodlines [2nd in Blurred Trilogy]by KallystenHis Master—no, Marc, damn it!—was in his armchair by the fire.Kate was curled up on his lap, asleep, her head tucked against the crook of his neck.His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close.Part of Blake wanted to scream for her to wake up before Marc hurt her.Another part envied how peaceful she looked, and wanted to feel as safe as she obviously did.With a small shudder, he pushed himself back into motion and crossed the room to the French windows [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]