Bonedust

porcelain skin and row of dagger fangs and the blood dripping from his lips, staining pale skin as he drank from Gabriel’s throat. He shook his head fiercely to rid himself of the images, the memories, and just focused on running.
    If he could get away, if he could be free for just a week…it would all be worth it. He’d find whoever the hell Dante Saunders was and together they’d end Jeremie’s reign of terror.
    And if Jeremie found him before then, Gabriel was ready to fall on the blade. Or take a bullet to the temple. Whichever came first.
    A low, booming bark echoed in the air and Gabriel’s heart jumped into his throat. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, even though he knew what was behind him. Big paws thundered after him, the hellhounds’ foul breath at the backs of Gabriel’s calves. He bit down the scream rising in his chest, knowing it would take more energy than he had to spare. He knew every inch of the muscled black hounds snarling behind him, from the tip of their canines to the end of their tails. If he stumbled, they’d be upon him, their bodies as hot as fire and their fangs slicing into flesh just for a taste.
    Teeth grazed his ankle and Gabriel could’ve sobbed with relief as the archway of the wrought iron fence came into view. Pain lancing down his side, he sprinted for safety, darting through the opening although it sent him skittering barefoot on gravel. Shrieks rose up behind him, furious and painful as the hounds touched the wards keeping them inside the Boneyard. Magick gleamed in the air, flickering like static. Gabriel stumbled and went down on one knee, gasping for breath as he watched them pace and growl.
    It wouldn’t take Jeremie nearly as long as it’d taken him to get here. He rose to his feet and headed west. He glanced down at his bare chest, to the intricate ink of the tattoo stained across his torso. A ribcage and spine had been drawn into his flesh, showing him off as property of the Bonemaster. But it was more than just a morbid decoration. No—for each of his slaves, Jeremie had ground a little of his bone to dust in the ink used, binding them to him forever. Gabriel forced a breath through his nose and took off at a jog.
    Jeremie would track him come dusk. The vampire had some sort of sick obsession with Gabriel ever since he’d plucked him up out of the Marketplace when he was eighteen. Gabriel was a slave—his mother had given him up as a toddler, his life less important than needing drug money for a quick fix, and he’d been in the System since.
    He’d fought the Bonemaster tooth and nail and he bore the scars for his disobedience. Now Jeremie wanted to Change him, to make him his eternal mate. Bile rose in Gabriel’s throat at the thought of that—of drinking the blood of the other slaves for sustenance and being Jeremie’s forever fuck-buddy for centuries to come.
    As the sun dawned blood red in the sky, casting a golden glow on the city’s gleaming crystal and steel towers and making the pavement glimmer, Gabriel finally slowed. His calves throbbed and his feet were bruised and bloodied, but he was alive. Alive. He whistled a breath through his nose and he leaned against a building, feeling the press of stone against his bare back. Alive and free for the first time in years. He ran a hand through dark curls and rested his head against brick.
    He needed a game plan. And some clothes. If someone saw his inked chest, they would know where to take him—straight back to Hell. And he needed a full day of sleep, unworried about the vampires coming to get him. Best thing about the bloodsucking bastards was that they were immobilized during the daylight hours. The only issue was: He needed money to be able to rent a motel room and slaves weren’t exactly rich.
    Which meant he needed a job.
    Rubbing the stubble on his jaw, he pushed off the building and started walking, feeling the warmth of the sun on his chest. The air was chilled with the brisk of autumn, fingering through his hair like whispers. Gabriel hunched his shoulders and cast his gaze around. What sort of place would hire a guy with no shirt and shoes to speak of? A job that didn’t involve clothes, even if it meant baring his ink to the world. Risky, but if he could get paid just enough to hitch a bus and a buy some clothes, he’d be out of here, far away.
    Garishly bright in violet neon, Gabriel could’ve groaned. New Ryot typically swung one way or another: High class places or