Chapter Thirty-four

Whoever arranged Morrisey’s room spent way too much time watching B horror movies. Dank, dark basement, no bathroom, minimal water and food, and only a blanket for sleeping. In a mansion, no less. So much for moving up in the world. Had someone set out to make this room as awful as possible?

His bladder might explode before he resorted to pissing in the milk jug in the corner.

The only things missing to make this truly a place of horrors were a rack and wrist irons.

Oh, not to mention no coffee, booze, or cigarettes.

A single bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. The floors were unfinished concrete, the wall cement blocks, and there were no windows.

Several times, the two goons brought humans into the room to huddle at the far end, trembling. What did they think? Morrisey was some kind of monster?

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” He didn’t approach the current offering. He’d learned his lesson. “What’s your name? What happened to you? Are you okay?”

The man trembled and whimpered but didn’t answer. Nothing but fear radiated from him, no sense of who he might be.

Morrisey lounged around in boxers he’d learned to hate, since he’d not received any clothes. Even so, he offered the one lone blanket to the guy.

The man shrieked and threw the blanket back. At least he wore clothes, so he likely wasn’t as cold as Morrisey. He also cried out anytime Morrisey tried to get close.

“Poor guy. What the hell did they do to you?”

The man rocked back and forth, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with unkempt dark hair and beard. Had Asher taken advantage of a homeless man?

One more reason to hate the bastard.

Morrisey wrapped himself as best he could in the threadbare plaid, sat on the cold concrete floor, and leaned against the wall. How long had he been here? He’d close his eyes just for a few minutes.

He dreamed of floating among the stars, searching for Farren without finding him. His rest must’ve lasted only ten minutes. He woke even more tired than he’d been before the nap, and roamed the approximately twelve feet by twenty feet of space, then went back to sleep—after finally making use of the milk jug.

The goons provided a thermos of water each day, along with a sandwich, which he tried to share with the human, who now just huddled and moaned.

Most of Morrisey’s waking hours alternated between thoughts of doing horrible things to Asher—who needs brothers, anyway?—and Farren.

Where was Farren? What was he doing?

Did he have any idea how Morrisey felt about him? Before, one being human and the other being, well, not entirely human, created a barrier for them. Now they stood on equal footing unless the ridiculous tier system of the other realm got in the way.

Morrisey couldn’t be a traveler. He’d know, right? Yet he got impressions from the dead. Proved nothing. Maybe he was psychic.

Which brought on another line of thinking to occupy Morrisey’s time.

How tiring to find obstacles in the way. Morrisey usually blamed his lot in life on circumstances. He drank because of depression over Craig’s leaving and eventual death, staggering through life into his forties. If he ever hoped to accomplish anything, have his life matter at all, he needed to step up to the plate—and soon.

What might he accomplish if he stopped letting others’ expectations get in his way? He’d bucked authority in the past, but never challenged his superiors in constructive ways. Time to educate himself as Farren did, get all the facts, then present his case.

Damn it, Farren had become a positive influence in Morrisey’s life. Just what he needed.

The human whimpered. Already Morrisey identified the human as different from himself. Maybe he always had. Fear wafted off the trembling man. Rich and sweet, like chocolate.

What the hell? Like chocolate?

Morrisey opened his senses, breathing deeply, soaking in the essence. His body grew stronger, his thoughts clearer. He drew in the essence again. Yes! Yes! This was what he needed. What he’d always needed.

His nearly ever-present headache eased.

The man whined, sinking farther into a corner on the floor.

Morrisey stood and staggered nearer, wrapping the stranger’s fear around him, a warm blanket against the cold.

The man cried out. Morrisey’s eyes flew open. The man panted, gasping, face turning blue.

No! Morrisey retreated to the other side of the space. This wasn”t just emotions wafting around, like Jessa said. No. Morrisey was pulling them from the man, draining him. “Asher!” he bellowed. Newfound power roared out with Morrisey’s voice. No doubt Asher heard him. Anyone within a three-mile radius likely heard.

Instead of Asher, a goon came, keys clanking while he opened a series of locks. The mountain of a man stood on the steps, arms folded over his chest, glaring down.

“Tell the no account asshole I fed from a human. Is he happy yet? But I’ll be damned if I’ll drain him. Take this one out and get him to a doctor. If Asher wants me to be some high and mighty ruler, he can start obeying me. He can also let me out of this damned cell!” Or I’ll find my own way out, went unsaid.

Morrisey pressed against the goon’s aura, searching for weakness. No fear to feast on, or adoration either. No! Wait!

Adoration, but for Asher. Still, it was adoration, but like eating hamburgers while really wanting steak. Morrisey drew in the goon’s essence, not as sweet as the human’s but palatable all the same.

The goon gasped, turning around on the steps.

No! Morrisey pulled harder. Fear poured out of the man. The more he fought, the deeper Morrisey fed. He spread his arms wide. Power, glorious power, filled him.

Was this how vampire legends started? But instead of blood, the vampire thrived on emotion.

No, not emotion. Life force. The emotions only opened up the person, making them easy prey. Damn, it was good. Filling every pore of Morrisey’s being, giving strength, power, life.

A lower-tier traveler occupied the goon’s body. One of the servant class. Simple, easily biddable, and with a desire to please. Could Morrisey shift loyalty from Asher?

This time when he opened himself, he traded essence, allowing the minion a fraction of Morrisey’s life force.

The goon stopped struggling, standing in place, a dazed expression on his face. He spoke for the first time in Morrisey’s hearing. “I will do as you asked.” Taking the stairs two at a time, he vanished above, leaving the door open.

Morrisey prepared to run. His gaze fell on the suffering human in the corner. No, he couldn’t leave this man to whatever fate Asher intended. Asher killed without conscience, like he’d the divine right to take another’s life. Did he drain humans completely while feeding?

Probably.

Maybe Morrisey should take over as ruler if for no other reason than to prevent assholes like Asher from treating humans as food.

Hurried footsteps headed his way. Morrisey braced.

Asher suddenly appeared, somewhat disheveled, running down the stairs. He trained his worried expression into a sneer, glancing between the human and Morrisey. “I see you finally gave in to your nature.”

Morrisey folded his arms, giving off his best asshole vibe, perfected over many years of pissing people off. “I did.”

“Finish the human. He’s of no worth to you.”

Like hell would Morrisey take orders from this asshole. “No.”

Asher’s mouth dropped open. “No? Why not?”

Time to speak a language Asher might understand. “First, I don’t need to, and second, why waste a good human? Third, body counts draw too much attention. Should I go on?”

Asher scowled, the superimposed image on his host’s face a sinister being. The truth clicked into place. Morrisey didn’t see how the evil beings appeared in their own world—he saw their souls, for lack of a better word. Asher’s was a horror to behold: greedy, corrupt, and beyond redemption.

He proved the point by gloating. “Humans don’t matter. Soon we’ll rule the realm, and they’ll be relegated to the food they should be.”

Morrisey sent out feelers, invisible tendrils testing Asher’s defenses. The arrogant sonofabitch dished out his usual smug superiority.

For a moment only.

Asher’s smile fell as Morrisey probed further. Oh, yes. A hint of fear, admiration only for himself, but more: greed, conceit, deception. Bitter, like biting a lemon, but sustenance all the same. Morrisey pulled.

Asher paled. “Brother. What are you doing?”

“Exactly what you wanted me to do. Didn’t you tell me to feed off emotions?”

“Human fear. Traveler adoration. What are you taking from me? This shouldn’t be possible.”

“I’m taking the only things you have to offer.” Morrisey pulled again. What a rush! Power flooded through him, setting off tiny electric currents along his nerve endings. He flexed his fingers, marveling at their movement. For the first time in days, Morrisey didn’t feel hunger or thirst.

Sated. Totally sated.

Asher screamed, crashing to the floor.

Morrisey stalked him, irresistibly drawn. Some evil part deep within hissed, Finish him! No! Not right.

The two goons poked their heads through the basement door, spotted Asher, and ran. Morrisey focused on the two, on their horror, their doubt, and pulled. A loud thump overhead said one at least had fallen.

Asher extended trembling fingers. “Please?”

Morrisey squatted beside him.

Asher grabbed Morrisey’s hand and grinned.

A blast of pure heat hit Morrisey in the face. Before he could climb off his ass, Asher pounced on Morrisey’s intended meal, who screamed once, then fell silent.

Asher fled up the stairs, slamming and locking the door behind him.

Morrisey darted to the fallen human. Dead. Another innocent who’d died to feed Asher’s lust for power. No, Morrisey wouldn’t kill for fun. Never!

“Asher!” Dizziness overtook him. Morrisey fell to his knees, gasping. What was happening? Had Asher drugged him again? Blackness formed around Morrisey’s vision.