And he was forced to bear witness to all of it. Dracul loved an audience, and a lifetime of hiding his emotions served Merlin well. He didn’t show even a flicker of empathy or disgust as he stood watching. It was amazingly hard, and he worried each time that he wouldn’t be able to remain impassive. Unlike the psycho humans working for him, Merlin didn’t find any pleasure in Dafydd’s and Mateo’s pain and debasement. He was frightened, as well, that one or both of them would die before help came.
His efforts in making that happen soon were going too slowly, but he was making progress. He’d found what he hoped was the location of the core computer room that he needed to transmit his information to Annika. It was now a matter of confirming that fact and gaining access without detection. That was trickier, because if he was right, it was heavily secured and he would only get one shot at it. He had to be careful.
In the meantime, he could only deliver solace and help as best he could. Fortunately, he’d managed to convince Dracul that it was in his interests for Merlin to provide the help.
‘Master, they are only humans. So fragile. If they die too soon, your fun will end. Let me make it last for you.’
He’d almost choked on the words, finding it hard to lie convincingly. It told him more than anything that he’d changed rapidly in a short period of time. It was all because of Annika, of course. Each time he thought he might lose his bottle, he pictured her—her smile, her nods of encouragement and her words of praise. It helped him keep going.
He found Mateo already tending to Dafydd. Naturally, the Mad King held a particular fury for his former plaything. Mateo was for fucking, but Dafydd took horrible beatings along with the rapes. Sometimes, that was all Dracul wanted him for—a punching bag. The only relief was that after the first time, Dracul had avoided Dafydd’s face. That was because he liked looking at its beauty, not because of any real mercy. As he lay naked in the warm room, Dafydd’s skin showed the marks of a myriad of tortures.
“Come on now. Drink some more water.” Mateo was holding a bottle to Dafydd’s lips. “For Idris’ sake.”
Those were the magic words. Everything Dafydd did now, including giving Dracul the whimpers and begging he coaxed out of the man’s battered body, was clearly in service for staying alive for his son. He let Mateo get a good amount of water into him before flopping his head down again with a groan.
“I have something for the pain.” Merlin hurried over to join them, dropping to his knees on Dafydd’s other side.
Mateo frowned at him. “It better be good.”
Merlin held up an ampoule. “Morphine.”
Mateo nodded once in silent approval. Dafydd moved his hand closer to Merlin and grasped his forearm with surprising strength. “Idris?”
This was always the first thing the man said to Merlin—and often the only thing. Merlin understood the question. “He’s fine…giving that prat Andri a right bollocksing.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Dafydd’s mouth before it was chased away by an obvious grimace of pain. Merlin wasted no more time. A few seconds after he’d injected the medicine, Dafydd sighed and went slack. The morphine would give the poor bastard a few hours of sleep, although it was likely that he’d be plagued with nightmares. Who wouldn’t be, under the circumstances?
Merlin himself was sleeping with one eye open. There was nothing safe about this place, and it wasn’t even certain that Dracul had a tight rein on his mercenaries. More and more, Merlin had caught sly looks between the men, and a few had dared to leer at him. There was nothing concrete he could put his hands on, but he feared that with their ‘mission’ over and having resulted in a tremendous loss from their complement, the humans were starting to think that cutting and running would be a good option. As fearsome as Dracul was, he was still one against a couple of dozen. The time might soon come for Merlin to make his own strength fully known. The question was when—and how much could he get away with without setting off the Mad King’s hair-trigger temper?
Because that was a problem that required his full attention, he put it aside and concentrated on the here and now. “I have another dose if you need it.” The underground complex lacked for little, stocked for an army to last years without surfacing. There were enough opiates to feed every junkie in the United States. And as Mateo was equally naked, the cuts and bruises that littered his body were easily seen. Although they were nowhere near as severe as Dafydd’s, they had to be painful.
“I’m fine. Leave it here, though, for later.”
“Okay.” Merlin placed the ampoule safely near the food and water supply. Dracul was smart enough not to try to starve his prisoners, without any coaxing on Merlin’s part.
He took a cold pack out of his bag, cracked the seal to mix the chemicals and placed it against a technicolor patch that had bloomed across Dafydd’s ribs. The man jerked once before falling silent again. “Do you think anything’s broken?” He didn’t dare palpate the area to see if he could tell. Medicine was Demi’s area of expertise, not his. He figured he could only make matters worse in the effort.
“How the hell should I know?” Mateo shifted to sit against the wall, hissed, then moved again to lie on his side. “With the blood Dracul is forcing down his throat each time, I think he’s healing quickly, no matter how badly he’s injured.”
Merlin didn’t say anything to that observation. He certainly didn’t tell the kid that it had also been his idea for the Mad King to feed the changeling. It was just one more way to keep his toy alive for his amusement. It had earned him a smack hard enough to loosen a few teeth and had sent him crashing to the ground. Dracul hated being spoken to out of turn, even if the information was useful. But he’d taken the suggestion and that was all that mattered. Mateo and Dafydd, however, didn’t trust him, so there was no point in trying to convince them of his loyalty. Besides, he still wasn’t sure if the cell was under surveillance. There were no obvious cameras or microphones, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
As there was nothing he could say that would help Mateo in the least, Merlin simply sat pressing the cold pack against Dafydd. The guy’s breathing seemed fairly regular, without any noticeable difficulty, so that was probably a good sign. He’d stay until the chemicals reached room temperature, then do more exploring. So far, he’d mapped out about half of the complex—the easiest parts, the ones that served as the general quarters for everyone. But there was one corridor in particular that intrigued him. There were no guards posted to keep him out, yet there was heavy surveillance from visible cameras lining the upper walls every few feet. He figured that was the best bet to find the computer that he needed.
Once he was done there, he intended to suck up his courage and go exploring. The worst-case scenario, he hoped, was a beating. Any risk was worth it, though. Annika was counting on his help. He really had no idea what her ultimate plan was, but oddly, that didn’t matter. Serving her brought him peace, and whenever he felt the least amount of fear, he imagined how happy she would be if he succeeded, and that image drove him on.
“Is Idris really okay?” Mateo’s voice was practically a whisper, undoubtedly so as not to disturb Dafydd.
“Yes, he’s fine.” Merlin kept his voice equally low. “He’s too young to understand what’s going on and Andri is being very careful with him.” He snorted. “Obviously he doesn’t want to risk the Master’s wrath.”