Devon Morgan [Seven Brothers for McBride 5] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (3 page)

Devon slipped a saddle onto the fastest
dressiter
in the stable then climbed onto him even though a part of him wanted to go to his home, close the door, and lose himself in one of his books. Ensnared in a story, Devon could pretend to be a valiant hero without having to endure any hardships. Long ago he’d discovered that fantasy was so much more fun than reality. As much as safety called to him, he was determined to do what Caleb told him to do. More than anything, including his own safety, Devon wanted to help protect the farm because this was his home. Not only that, but McBride was a generous master. Devon would do anything he could to help him. What astonished Devon was how swiftly things could change.

McBride went from the biggest, strongest, most powerful man in the county to a crumpled heap in less than a week. What terrified Devon was that in a matter of days, McBride started to look like his father, who had feared leaving the big house. Devon wasn’t a religious slammer, but he tossed up a prayer that whatever mental disorder had struck down the father didn’t harm the son. McBride, the son, was one of the most genuinely kind people Devon had ever met. Even if he wasn’t his master, Devon thought that he would want to help him.

But McBride’s failing health wasn’t the only thing that was different now. When Devon found out the world was changing and he might not ever gain the mate he so desperately longed for, he’d been angry and then terribly sad. Why was it that things just couldn’t hold together long enough for him to have someone to share his fantastical tales with? If his brothers would have been more open to his ways, Devon might have told his stories to them, but they made fun of him, saying he’d rather have his nose buried in a book than between the legs of a sweet thrall.

Devon had taken the ribbing even though he knew that wasn’t true at all. Devon wanted to read to his mate until he was aroused beyond belief and then lose himself in the bliss of physical love. Dreams of doing so drove Devon to save as much money as he could so when he did get a mate, he’d be able to indulge his longing to dress up like the characters he’d read about. Often, he pretended to be them and acted out little vignettes in his mind, but he longed to go deeper into making the fantasy come to life.

“None of that can happen now.” Devon had bought fabrics and some outfits then promptly hidden them away. He wasn’t ashamed, but he had suffered enough teasing about the books that he didn’t want to give his brothers any more ammunition. Devon hadn’t gone too far into that fantasy world because he didn’t know what size his mate would be. He’d always wanted a thrall who was petite and pretty, but with the way the world had shifted, he’d be happy just to have a real man in his bed.

That thought caused him to flash back on the mechanical man Jonas had bought for the Morgan brothers when they’d first come to the farm. Devon had said something so raw and dirty that when he thought of it now, he blushed and slapped his hand to his mouth. His brothers had all gasped and taken a step back. Devon had surprised them so much they didn’t even do anything as the mechanical man squatted over him and did what he said. He’d told him to ride his cock, and the robot had. Although, that wasn’t quite how Devon had phrased his desire. Since he’d been reading
Raw Ride on Rallon
, Devon had used the crude terms of the hero, Varrto Narruto. In the moment, Devon had felt like an intergalactic hired gun who took what he wanted, lusted without care, and moved on without ever looking back. In real life, Devon had no desire to leave the little patch of land he now called home. He loved the
tallos
farm for the simplicity of living and the consistent rhythms of the fields. But for a brief, shining moment, he was someone utterly different than himself. That was truly why he loved books as much as he did. Becoming someone else for that span of time was enthralling.

That thought dumped him right back into reality. If he wanted to keep the land he loved as his home, then he was duty bound to protect it. Devon straightened a bit to make himself feel more in control. The six-legged beast moved smoothly and swiftly toward the bend. Once they rounded the corner, they were headed down what everyone called the long drive.

Straining forward in the saddle, Devon looked forward, hoping to see the interloper long before the interloper saw him. His hands were sweaty and his heart was hammering. Devon realized in real life he wasn’t a very good hero. He was afraid, and anyone looking at him would know it. Into his thoughts came a line from Shakespeare about a coward dying a thousand deaths and a hero dying but one. Or something like that. Basically, cowards died from their shame often because they simply couldn’t be brave where a hero rushed off to be, well, all heroic. When he died, he usually did so while being a champion. Devon couldn’t recall a single story where a hero died because he fell in the shower or got trampled by a
dressiter
. They died glorious deaths, and their ancestors sang their praises for generations.

“But there was that one tale where he was collateral damage in a stampede.” Still, though, he’d been trying to stop the rampaging beasts from destroying his beloved’s farm. Devon had wept at the man’s death, and then he’d gotten angry that the character had been cheated out of his happily ever after. Thankfully, he hadn’t stopped reading, because the hero was so selfless the gods granted him a new body and a second chance. Even now, just thinking of that moment made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

His feelings of peace faded as he continued to look down the long drive. Devon may have his head in the clouds most of the time, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew there would be no second chance for him. The gods were as mythical as the notion of being granted a second chance. One time around in this great old world was granted to everyone equally. No matter what class someone was—from grinder, to thrall, to slammer, to gentryman—everyone only got one shot at life. They all had to bow to the ultimate god of time. An hour was the same for all men. Devon’s only hope was that he would have many more hours so that he could experience all that there was to life, especially sex.

In his books, the characters had shown him what it might be like to actually have sex, but each man experienced it in his own way. Devon wondered what it would be like for him. What he’d done with the mechanical man didn’t count. It was as fake as the robot himself. There was nothing there in terms of warmth or emotion. Even though he’d found release, Devon had felt oddly unfulfilled. Weeks later, caught up in the middle of a long-running series, he’d realized why he hadn’t found the experience more pleasing.

“I needed to feel a connection.”

Devon could never be like Varrto Narruto, who strode through the galaxy with a gun on his hip and a cock that never quit. Varrto could fuck a dozen men in a night and never once call any of them by name. It seemed to Devon the character never lacked for a warm body to fill his bed, but they never stayed long. Barely were the sheets warm when Varrto was off, hungry for the next adventure and the next hot young thing to sink his prick into. While Devon enjoyed reading of his exploits, he realized that wasn’t what he wanted at all. Devon wanted one man. He wanted that man to share his bed, his table, his shower—everything. More than anything in the world, Devon wanted love.

As he continued to peer down the long drive, hungry to see who this mysterious man was, Devon felt more fear than excitement. Things were already tense enough without another man adding to the mix. If McBride continued to go downhill, then Jonas would have to take over, and even though Devon liked Jonas well enough, he didn’t think he was the best man to be in charge. But that wasn’t what Devon was really worried about. If Jonas did start to run things, Caleb would never stand for it. He would try to take over, and Devon had no idea what things would be like if Caleb was running the farm.

At times, Caleb could be very thoughtful and kind, but he could also be ruthless and brutal. If Devon could only have one word to describe Caleb, he would have to use
unpredictable
. Still, the only thing Devon knew for sure was that he didn’t want to be in charge. Leadership wasn’t something he strove toward or had any illusions about himself doing. Reading about the heavy burdens of the lead man had convinced him that was something he wasn’t well suited for. If the world had stayed as it should, the question would be immaterial. Gentrymen ruled while their slammers did what they said. The lines of authority were very clear. But now everything was a mess. Caleb should never have issued commands to anyone, but he was the biggest and the strongest since McBride was down. Even Jonas, who by birth had far more authority than Caleb, didn’t question his orders.

That thought prompted another. Why had Jonas stood in front of Ollie? As McBride’s companion, he should have been on the porch, kneeling over his mate, calling for doctors and ways to offer comfort. Instead, he’d stayed in the black dirt, protecting Ollie of all people while Caleb hovered over their master. None of that made sense to Devon. Determined to puzzle it out, he considered each man in turn, reviewing what he knew of each man’s character and goals.

Just as the clouds of confusion began to lift, Devon got his first glimpse of the stranger. He was still a distance away, but Devon was able to make out his form. He looked tall and appeared to have massive shoulders. Devon took a wavering breath. The last thing they needed was another big man on the farm. Between him and his brothers, who were all built on a grand scale, and their huge master, they had more than enough strong backs. What they needed were more delicate thralls like Ferris, Alden, and Easton.

Even though Devon was disappointed, he didn’t relax his guard. A big man might have designs on coming in and taking the place over. If he had weapons, he might be able to, but he wouldn’t be able to keep what he’d taken for long. Killing everyone would leave him with no one to run the machinery or tend the crops. Enslaving everyone wouldn’t work long term, either, because eventually they would rebel. Not that this man might have thought things that far ahead. Devon noticed that a lot of men simply did things without thinking them all the way through.

Still, he didn’t know enough to turn around and take a complete report back to the big house, so he kept moving down the long drive. The
dressiter
under him was big, but he was fast. In the blink of an eye, Devon could turn the beast and run back to safety. By the time this stranger caught up to him, they’d be ready for any assault he might be considering making.

That got Devon thinking about the likelihood of such an event. One man against a farm full of men?
Naw
. That just didn’t seem right. But maybe this man was sick. What if he were a landed gentryman in the grips of insatiable blood hunger? That could prompt him to attempt such a foolish scenario because he wouldn’t know it was crazy. But wouldn’t he be running? From the way his body moved, Devon thought he was taking very slow, even steps. Would a madman walk in such a way? Devon didn’t think so. He was tempted to slap the reins and speed up his mount, but he chose not to. Having the man slowly revealed to him gave Devon plenty of time to determine the best course of action.

The closer they got to meeting, the more puzzled Devon became. The man seemed to be shrinking. He went from tall and lean to squat and rotund. Scratching his head, Devon blinked several times, but the confusing image didn’t clarify. Was the man shrinking? That was crazy. In his books he’d read about all kinds of illnesses, and he’d faced some pretty strange real-life sicknesses as well, but nothing caused a man to shrink.

Each step the
dressiter
made brought him closer and clarified what he was seeing. It was a man, but he wasn’t big and strong
or
short and fat. He was tall, thin, and hunched over. He was so blond his hair was almost white, and since it was so short, Devon had thought he was wearing a hat. Across his shoulders he was carrying something that he had his arms draped over. That was why from a distance he’d seemed so broad shouldered and tall.

Since his head was down, Devon didn’t even think the man knew someone was approaching him, which gave Devon a distinct advantage. But the more he looked, the more he realized the man was no threat to anyone. His steps were slow and steady because there was something tied around his ankles.

A gasp of horror escaped Devon when he realized the man had been bound to something but had managed to work himself free. Mostly free. Over the width of his shoulders was a board that his arms and hands were still tied to, forcing him to keep his head down. What looked like rope around his legs was actually chains. Manacles encircled his ankles. His feet weren’t covered in black boots but were in fact encrusted in black dirt.

Every cell in Devon’s body howled for him to help this man. If he didn’t, he would be the coward who would die a thousand deaths, most of them from painful regret. He didn’t know who he was, or how he’d fallen to his fate, all he knew was that it was wrong to truss any man up in such a way. In that moment, Devon realized the man had to be very brave and very determined. Whoever bound him clearly didn’t want him to get away, and yet he’d managed. Not only that, but he’d also found the strength to come all this way. He had to be strong because there wasn’t another house for miles.

Devon stopped his mount and dropped down to the ground, but the man kept plodding forward as if he were out here all alone. Perhaps he thought he was. Given the state of his form, he might be completely disoriented.

Afraid of startling him, Devon softly called, “Hey.” Just about the last thing he expected was for the man to flinch his head up so fast he knocked himself off balance. Devon got a flash of the most beautiful bright blue eyes right before the man was tumbling onto his back. Reaching out, Devon tried to stop his fall, but he was far too late. Down he went, cracking his head on the board his hands were bound to. Wincing, Devon ran over to him, but he was out cold.