Dance in the Dark (20 page)

Only to be yanked back down, head slamming so hard into the stairs that for a moment, everything grayed out. He struggled to his feet, to get his bearings, protesting helplessly as someone drove a fist into his gut. He dropped like a rock, unwillingly letting go of the items to which he still clung.

The world started graying out again as someone kicked him, struck his face, and said something he did not catch. Someone screamed. Johnnie struggled to get control of himself, but his head throbbed and he felt as though he were going to be sick. Another scream, like nothing he had ever heard in his life.

It all became too much, and Johnnie finally passed out.

*~*~*

He stirred briefly, drawn from unconsciousness by warmth. Arms, he thought hazily. Someone was holding him. He could not seem to muster the strength to open his eyes, but that was all right. He liked the dark. Johnnie pressed deeper into the warmth, murmuring in approval when the arms tightened.

"Johnnie? Are you all right?" An urgent voice asked.

There was power in that voice, Johnnie noted. There was also something familiar.  Scents he knew teased at him, but he could not quite catch them. He would know the hot-toddy quality of that voice anywhere, though. "Eros?" Johnnie muttered, and then fell back into unconsciousness.

*~*~*

Johnnie groaned and tried to lift a hand to his aching head, only to find his arms were trapped by something. Cloth. He dragged his eyes open and saw he was lying on an old couch, covered by an afghan.

He did not recognize the house. Sitting up slowly, annoyed by just how much effort that entailed, he looked around. It was a small, cozy sort of room, filled with old but well cared for furniture, more knick-knacks than he could count, afghans, pictures, paintings, little bookcases stuffed nearly to the point of overflowing.

He froze as a picture on the end table nearest him caught his eye. The man in the picture might have been Bergrin, save he was several years too old  Bergrin was obviously the little boy standing next to the him. So, he was in Bergrin's house?

What had happened? His head throbbed, and Johnnie bit back a cry of pain. He swung his legs off the couch and tried to stand. When the world tilted alarmingly, he thought better of it and sat back down. He could not remember what had happened. Johnnie gingerly touched the place where his head throbbed, feeling a knot. He had hit his head on the stairs, he recalled. Men had come, attacked. Why? He could not remember. They had beat him.

Then what?

Johnnie simply could not remember.

Sound drew his attention, muffled voices, then he heard someone in the hallway, coming towards him. Bergrin filled the archway between the living room and the hallway, and Johnnie's thoughts stuttered, stopped. A nasty bruise had forced Bergrin's right eye mostly shut. It glistened wetly, like some sort of ointment had been smeared on the bruise. His left upper arm was heavily bandaged, and there were long scratches on his rather impressively-muscled chest that Bergrin had not bothered to treat past washing them. Bergrin's curly hair was a mess, going in at least twenty directions, and he wore loose sweatpants that only barely clung to his hips.

Johnnie swallowed, unable to deal with this new perspective on his bodyguard.  Shaking himself, he asked, "What happened?" He scowled at the raspy, unsteady quality to his voice.

"You don't remember?" Bergrin asked, a slight frown on his face.

Johnnie shook his head, then winced. "Not really. Men came in. They attacked me. I hit my head. Then nothing."

Bergrin's frown deepened. He turned his head, and called down the hall, "Hey, Pop! Bring a glass of water!" Down the hall, Johnnie could just hear a muffled reply. Bergrin walked into the living room, shoved the discarded blankets aside, and sat down next to him. He was warm, Johnnie noted. How had he never noticed all the heat Bergrin radiated?

Dismissing the strange observation, he asked, "So why are we here?"

"Safe. Familiar to me, but not to anyone who might try to come after us. Plus, I knew once you were awake and functioning, you would demand to come here anyway."

"You are hurt," Johnnie blurted, then wondered what in the
hell
was wrong with him. Clearly the hit to his head had addled his brain.

Bergrin grunted, looking briefly annoyed. "I got cocky. Remind me
never
to get cocky where dragons are concerned. I haven't been hit like that in years. Those fucking tails come out of nowhere." He twisted slightly, and Johnnie noticed the massive bruise spread across a good portion of Bergrin's back.

"But, you're safe now, Johnnie," Bergrin continued. "I told your father what happened—I had no choice—"

Johnnie nodded."It is fine. What did he say?"

"Several rather interesting words I've never heard the Dracula use," Bergrin said, smiling briefly. "Beyond that, to keep you out of sight and safe until he found some bodies in need of having their heads removed."

Johnnie made a face, but he was prevented from replying by the appearance of an older Bergrin. Gray peppered the man's brown curls, and glasses framed his hazel eyes. He had a thin scar on the edge of his chin, curving along the bottom of his cheek. He wore a brown sweater and worn jeans, and held out a steaming mug to Johnnie. "I thought this might be better than water."

"Thank you," Johnnie said, accepting the mug. "You are clearly Bergrin's father. I am sorry to have intruded upon your home like this."

The man laughed. "My son is right, you do have a very pretty way of speaking." He snickered when Bergrin scowled. "You're no bother, my boy. I'm glad you seem all right. How is your head?"

"It is fine," Johnnie said, then hid a grimace of pain by sipping what proved to be chamomile tea.

"You are awake and functioning, that is a good sign. My name is Alec; it is quite the honor to meet the son of Dracula Desrosiers. Your father is a very good man."

"Thank you," Johnnie said, pleased to hear his father given such praise. "I really hope I am not putting you out." He glanced at Bergrin, then said. "I am sorry, too, that your son has taken such injury on my behalf."

Alec snorted in amusement, casting his son a dry, fond look. "He's done worse all on his own, and no doubt will again." He reached out suddenly and ruffled Bergrin's hair, laughing when Bergrin glared at him. Turning back to Johnnie, he asked, "Do you feel up to food? I've some vegetable broth on, maybe with some crackers?"

"Stop mothering—" Bergrin started to grouse.

"That sounds wonderful," Johnnie cut in, drowning Bergrin out, smiling. "Thank you, again."

"Of course," Alec said, and left to get the food.

Bergrin sighed and raked a hand through his hair, making the curls wilder than ever. "I need to apologize, sir, for failing you. I should have been there, and you never should have been hurt." He reached out and lightly touched fingers to Johnnie's face, and only then did Johnnie realize he had a bruise on his cheek.

"First Highness and Prince, now sir?" Johnnie snapped, jerking away from the touch, immediately regretting it when the world tilted.  He held his head gingerly in one hand, closing his eyes. "If you are just going to say stupid things like that, I prefer you keep your mouth shut."

Laughing softly, Bergrin said, "Yes, Johnnie."

"Better," Johnnie said. "It seems strange to call you Bergrin, and your father Alec."

"No one uses my first name on pain of death," Bergrin said, then added, "Except my mom, because she gave it to me. Don't bother asking, Highness, because I'm not telling. Nor is it somewhere you can sniff it out."

Johnnie made a face at that, and said nothing. He looked around the living room again, because otherwise he would just stare openly at Bergrin's smooth, bare chest. He really wished Bergrin would go put on real clothes.

It was only then he noticed
he
was not wearing his proper clothes. Had it really taken him this long to notice? Like Bergrin, he wore sweatpants. He also wore a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. Both were far too big for him. "Where are my clothes?"

"We were soaked through when I got you out of there," Bergrin said. "Your clothes are packed away to be properly cleaned later, since I like living too much to even attempt to clean your threads. Your father said he would see that fresh clothes were brought to you. He also said he sent word to Brennus you were here in his territory."

"Good," Johnnie replied, because in addition to everything else, he really did not need to inadvertently offend a demon lord.  "The journals," he said, suddenly reminded of why he had wanted to come here in the first place. "The letters."

"All here," Bergrin said. "I even grabbed your sword stick."

Johnnie relaxed slightly. "Good. Thank you."

Bergrin grunted in reply, and leaned back into the couch, looking suddenly exhausted.

"Are you certain you are all right?" Johnnie asked.

"I'm fine," Bergrin said. "My dad is right—I've survived way worse than this. But when this case is over and we're back at the Bremen, you'd better let me have a
real
nap in my corner."

Johnnie nodded, but could not for whatever reason form a reply. They lapsed into silence, and Johnnie leaned back into the couch himself. His eyes grew heavy, try as he might to keep them open, and eventually he gave up resisting. The last thing he remembered was his head resting against something firm and warm.

*~*~*

When he woke, it was to the crackle and pop of flames, and the feel of something shifting and rubbing against him.  Jerking completely awake at that, Johnnie fell off the couch and onto the floor with a hard thud, barely avoiding knocking his head on the floor.  He scowled furiously, first at the hard floor, then up at the reason he had fallen in the first place.

Bergrin, fast asleep and snoring softly, his back against the couch, and Johnnie had obviously been pressed against him. His face was … softer, when he was asleep, but until that moment Johnnie had never thought Bergrin's face hard.

Somebody, probably Alec, had covered them in an afghan and lit a fire. Face hot, Johnnie turned away from the sight of a bare-chested, dead-asleep Bergrin, and sat with his back against the couch, facing the fireplace.

Ugh. What was wrong with him? He did not even know, anymore.  He shivered slightly, and pulled down an extra afghan at one end of the couch, wrapping up in it as he continued to brood. This was by far the strangest case he had taken yet. It should have been a simple matter of finding who had raised the draugr and why.  He was not supposed to have wound up with the world's worst headache, more people dead because they had tried to come after him, and the knowledge that his babysitter had a damned fine chest.

Johnnie pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if he could simply finish the job his assailants had started when they had slammed his head into the stairs. He should be back in the Bremen right now, drinking vodka and reading or shooting pool, not sitting on the floor in Bergrin's father's living room because he had tumbled there after realizing he had fallen asleep on the couch with Bergrin.

His gust twisted, sharp and sudden, painful. Johnnie did not know why. He frowned, staring at the rug, wishing his head would stop hurting so damned much so he could
think.

"You look as though you've lost your whole world," Alec said, startling him.

Johnnie looked up, then looked away again and shrugged. "I have the oddest sense I am missing something, or have lost something, but I have no idea why." He sighed. "I am sorry, that makes no sense."

"No," Alec said softly, moving into the room. He stood at the arm of the couch, and reached out to brush strands of hair from Bergrin's face. "I know the feeling, believe me. But, I did not realize it was there until I saw Bergrin's mother." He smiled faintly. "A man came by while you were both asleep. He brought you clothes; they are in my bedroom, down the hall. You can use my bathroom to clean up, as I am sure you would like to. Once you are set to rights, we can discuss the things you've brought me. They and the letters certainly make for interesting reading."

Nodding, Johnnie stood, grateful that at least things seemed to have stopped tilting every time he moved. "How long were we asleep?"

Alec laughed. "You've been asleep for some time. It is Friday, just after ten in the morning."

"I see," Johnnie said, grimacing. They had left the Bremen almost fifteen hours ago. "You said down the hall?"

"Yes, all the way at the end, on your left," Alec said with a smile. He slapped Bergrin's cheek lightly, snickering when Bergrin groaned in his sleep. "I'll rouse the bear while you clean up."

Smothering a smile that was wholly inappropriate, Johnnie ducked from the room and went down the hall to the indicated bedroom.

An hour later, he felt much more like himself. Whoever had delivered the clothes had dropped off one of his favorite outfits—black pants with violet pinstripes, a black silk shirt, and a violet vest with gold and silver dragons. The same someone had even brought the proper tie, and all the matching jewelry. Even the correct shoes. It must have been Lila, she was the only one who ever got everything correct the first time.

Refreshed and restored, he ventured back down the hall to the living room, but his steps slowed as he heard voices that were trying hard to stay low, but were too heated to do that well.