Table of Contents 31 страница

In the quiet, Qhuinn looked down at his brother’s hand. That signet ring had been left on—maybe because the knuckle above it was so swollen, they would have had to cut it off.

The crest that had been carved into the gold face carried the sacred symbols that only the Founding Families could mark their lineage with. And yeah, wow, it was completely deranged—and grossly inappropriate—to covet the goddamn thing. After everything that had happened, you’d think he’d be disgusted.

Then again, maybe it was just a knee-jerk reaction, an echo from all those years of hoping against hope he’d get one of his own.

“Qhuinn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry….”

Qhuinn shook his head, even though Luchas’s lids were closed. “You don’t worry about anything. You’re safe. You’re back. It’s all going to be okay.”

As his brother’s chest rose and fell again like he was relieved, Qhuinn rubbed his face and didn’t feel good about any of it. Not his brother’s condition—or his return.

It wasn’t that he wanted the guy dead. Tortured. Frozen forever.

But he had closed the door on all that family-dynamic stuff. Relegated it to the back of his mental file cabinet. Put it away for good, never to be looked at again.

What could you do, though?

Life specialized in curveballs.

The unfortunate thing was that they somehow inevitably ended up catching him in the nuts.

When a soft whistle sounded next to Blay, he jumped. “Oh, hey, John.”

John Matthew lifted his hand in a wave. How’re things?

As Blay shrugged, he thought it might be a good idea to stand up off the floor again. His ass had gone numb, which meant it was time for another of his walkabouts.

Grunting as he got to his feet, he stretched his back. “I guess okay. Luchas was awake enough after surgery so Qhuinn’s in there now.”

Oh. Wow.

While Blay walked things off in a tight circle, John settled against the wall. He was dressed in sweats, and the guy’s hair was still wet—and there was a bite mark on his neck.

Blay looked away. Opened his mouth to say something. Ran out of gas for conversation.

From the corner of his eye, he saw John sign, So, how’s Saxton?

“Ah, good. He’s good—on a little vacation.”

He’s been working really hard.

“Yeah, he has.” As he hoped the topic ended there, it felt odd to keep something from John. Other than Qhuinn, the guy had been the closest friend he had—although they had drifted during the last year, too. “But he’ll be back soon.”

You must miss him. John glanced away, like he knew it was pushing it.

Made sense. Blay had always shut down any conversation about his relationship, diverting talk to other subjects.

“Yeah.”

So how’s Qhuinn holding up? I didn’t want to intrude, but…

Blay could only shrug again. “He’s been in there awhile. I’m taking that as good news.”

And Luchas is going to make it?

“Time will tell, but at least they got him patched up.” Blay took out his Dunhills and lit up, exhaling slowly. When there was nothing but an awkward silence, he said, “Listen, I’m sorry if I’m being weird.”

The truth was, that bite mark was a reminder of what was going to have to happen for him, and he really didn’t need that so front-and-center.

Qhuinn’s voice barged into his head: We could go together.

What the hell had he agreed to?

You’re stressed, John signed as he focused on the door. We’re all stressed. Everything is…stressful.

Blay frowned as the guy’s mood registered. “Hey, are you okay?”

After a moment, John signed, The strangest thing happened the other night. Wrath called me into his office and told me that Qhuinn was no longer my ahstrux nohtrum. I mean, that’s fine, that’s cool—it’s actually uncomplicated things a lot. But Qhuinn never said anything to me, and I don’t know if I should say something to him? I also didn’t know that was possible. I mean, when it started, it was like, “Your pink slip is a double-tap, and that’s that,” you know? Did he just quit? Is it because of the Layla thing? I thought they weren’t getting mated.

Blay exhaled a curse, the smoke curling up over his head. “I have no clue.”

Shit, that mating thing probably should have occurred to him—and maybe that was why Qhuinn had jumped out of range when V had appeared.

Could Qhuinn and Layla be getting hitched now that the young was okay—

The door swung wide, and Qhuinn came out, looking like he’d been kicked in the head. “Oh, hey, John, whassup.”

As the two clapped each other on the shoulder, Qhuinn glanced over, but then carried on with a back-and-forth with John.

And then he and Qhuinn were alone after John left a moment later.

“Are you okay?” Qhuinn said.

Clearly, the question of the hour, wasn’t it.

“Actually, I’m going to ask you that. How’s Luchas?” Blay pulled a V and stubbed his cigarette out on the tread of his shitkicker.

Before Qhuinn could answer, Selena came out of the office, as if she had been summoned from the main house. The Chosen walked toward them gracefully, but with purpose, her traditional white robing flowing around her legs.

“Greetings, sires,” she said as she approached. “Dr. Jane indicated that I was required?”

As Blay exhaled, he felt like punching himself. This was the last thing he—

“Yeah, both of us,” Qhuinn answered.

Blay closed his eyes as a sudden surge rocked him. The idea of watching Qhuinn feed was like a drug in his bloodstream, loosening him up and threatening to get him hard. But really, it wasn’t—

“Down the hall would be great,” Qhuinn murmured.

Well, it was better than a bedroom. Right? More professional, yes?

And he did need the feeding—and Qhuinn no doubt had to as well after all the drama.

Blay ditched his cigarette butt into a trash can and brought up the rear as Qhuinn led the way. Going along, he didn’t track the Chosen’s movements. Nope, not in the slightest. His eyes were glued to Qhuinn’s, from those shoulders, to those hips…to that ass….

Okay, this was going to stop. Right now.

He just needed to pull himself together, do the feeding, and make an excuse to get gone.

Maybe this plan would be one that actually worked?

In through a doorway. Conversation. Polite smiling, even though he didn’t know what had been asked or answered of him.

Ah, one of the hospital rooms, he realized. This was really good—a clinical environment. Just take the vein and move along, with one biological function not necessarily leading to another—

“I’m sorry?” the Chosen said, looking at him with an open face.

Great. He’d been loose-lipping it, but there was no telling how much he’d shared.

“I’m sorry,” he said smoothly. “I’m just hungry as all get-out.”

“In that case, would you like to be first?” Selena asked.

“Yeah, he would,” Qhuinn replied as he settled back against the door.

Well, there you go, Blay thought. Everything was settled. When Qhuinn started? He was going to leave.

Stepping forward, he wondered how this was going to work precisely, but Selena solved that one by drawing up a chair and sitting by the hospital bed. Roger that—Blay hopped up on the mattress, his weight displacing the pillow from the slightly raised head, the springs creaking. And then his mind shut down, which was a relief. As Selena stretched out her arm and drew her white sleeve back, his hunger came to the forefront, his fangs dropping down from his upper jaw, his breath deepening.

“Please partake as you wish,” she said placidly.

“I thank you for the gift, Chosen,” he answered in a low voice.

Leaning down, he struck deeply, but as gently as he could—and on the first swallow, he knew it had been too long. With a great howl, his stomach roared with need, his civility draining out of him, his instincts taking over: He drew hard, drinking faster and faster, the power landing in his gut and spreading out from there—

His eyes went to Qhuinn.

Dimly, he was aware that yet again, one of his plans was soon going to be out the window, gone and forgotten. In fact, this had been a very bad idea—assuming he didn’t want to fuck the guy again: Logic was difficult enough when it was just a case of conflicting emotions. A full-on sexual urge, spurred by the drinking?

He was an asshat of the first order; he truly was.

And that was especially true as he watched Qhuinn’s erection inflate behind the fly of the fighter’s leathers.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Man, one of these days, he was going to be strong enough to walk away. He really was, honest.

Oh, FUCK.

SIXTY-SEVEN

As Qhuinn watched the show, his tongue parted his mouth and took a lick of his lips.

Across the shallow room, Blay was up on the hospital bed, that perfect torso angled forward so he could partake of the Chosen’s vein, his hands, those capable, well-trained, strong hands, holding the fragile wrist to his mouth with care—as though, even in the throes of feeding, he was a gentlemale.

As he continued to drink, his torso curved around even tighter, his rib cage flexing and settling with every breath, his head subtly shifting with every swallow.

It was all Qhuinn could do to stay where he was. He so wanted up on that mattress as well, twisting that body around so he could come in from behind. He wanted to be at the male’s throat as Blay took from the Chosen. He wanted to fuck the guy for twelve or fifteen hours straight when they were both done.

After all the drama with Luchas, this short, intense respite from the shock and pain was a glorious, guilty relief: it was just too damn good to focus on something like this—his tired mind and exhausted body ready to be refreshed so he could come back to reality fighting strong once again.

God, his brother…

Shaking his head, he deliberately gave his brain something erotic to play with: As Blay’s hand sneaked between his legs and rearranged something at his fly, it was pretty damn clear he was fully aroused.

As if that delicious scent didn’t make it obvious.

Just as Qhuinn was about to lose it, Blay lifted his head and let out a chuffing sound of satisfaction. Then the male licked at the puncture wounds he’d made.

You know what, Qhuinn thought. Fuck the feeding. All he needed was Blay….

“And you, sire?” the Chosen asked.

Crap. He probably should do it.

Besides, Blay was clearly in a postfeeding logy state, his body slow, his eyes fuzzy—and Qhuinn took advantage of it, pushing himself between the fighter and the Chosen, his ass rubbing against the hard ridge of Blay’s cock as he hopped up onto the bed.

While Blay let out a groan, Qhuinn leaned over and took the female’s other wrist. Holding it with one hand, he used his other to yank out the bottom of his muscle shirt—and then shove Blay’s palm down the front of his own pants.

Qhuinn kept his own groan to himself by taking a hard pull on the Chosen’s vein, but Blay’s hiss sounded out.

Maybe the Chosen would assume it—

Qhuinn’s eyes rolled back in his head as Blay stroked him, the friction threatening to make him come right then and there—which was not something he wanted to do in front of Selena.

But, oh, fuck, that was—

He put his own hand down there, stilling that movement.

So Blay just gave his balls a good squeeze.

Qhuinn climaxed on his next swallow, the orgasm shooting out of him before he could think of any kind of boring and unattractive distraction, the pleasure cresting with such power, he sagged in his own skin.

Blay’s chuckle was erotic as hell.

Whatever, payback was going to be a bitch, Qhuinn vowed to himself.

And as it turned out, he couldn’t wait for it. He retracted his fangs and stopped drinking before he’d had his fill—because his hunger for something else had completely taken over, and it was beyond time to send Selena on her way.

Getting the Chosen out in a polite but expeditious manner was an autopilot maneuver—he had no clue what he was saying—but at least she was smiling and looking pleased, so he must have done the right thing.

He was very conscious of locking the door, however.

As he turned around, he found Blay stretched out and attending to himself, his hand stroking up and down between his legs. His fangs were still elongated from the feeding, and his eyes were glowing from under heavy lids, and holy fuck was he hot…

Qhuinn ditched his shitkickers. His leathers. His shirt.

Blay orgasmed before he even started for the bed, the male arching up and moaning as his head shot back on the thin pillow, and his hips jerked.

Like Qhuinn buck-ass naked was too much to handle.

Best. Compliment. Ever.

Qhuinn attacked the bed, pouncing on Blay, finding that velvet mouth and taking it over. Clothes were ripped—the buttons on the fly of Blay’s leathers popping free and landing like coins tossed onto the linoleum, his shirt getting torn into pieces. And then they were skin-on-skin, nothing separating their flesh.

As they writhed against each other, Qhuinn knew what he wanted. And he was too desperate and hungry to ask nicely—or even talk about it.

All he could do was break off from that mouth, roll away from Blay…and reach behind, pulling the male onto him as he stretched one leg up.

What do you know, Blay took over from there. And knew exactly what to do.

Qhuinn felt himself get positioned with rough hands—before he knew it, he was up on his knees, his face in the mattress, his breath hammering out of his mouth. It was all so foreign, letting someone else take charge—and he felt vulnerable, too, even through the wanting—

“Oh fuck!” he bellowed as the possession was struck, the sensations of pain and pleasure, stretching and accommodation, mixing into a cocktail that made him come so hard he saw stars.

And then Blay started moving.

Qhuinn braced his arms and bore backward, holding his own as that whole virginity thing was done and dusted but good.

Oh, man, it was an incredible rush, and it only got better. As Blay’s arm snaked around his chest and locked on, the angle changed, the penetrations going deeper and deeper, faster and faster, the bed beginning to rock back and forth against the wall, the panting in his ear growing harsher and harsher….

The cusp was the single greatest burn he’d ever felt, the edge of not just his release, but Blay’s, tightening him up all over, his thighs clenching, his pelvis tilting to receive, his great arms holding them both up off the bed—

When Blay came, the thrusts locked him in so hard Qhuinn’s head banged into the wall—not that he noticed or cared. And then that cock started jerking wildly…

And Qhuinn felt well and truly owned for the first time in his life.

It was…nothing short of a miracle.

Naturally, it took a while for Blay to have had his fill. And, funnily enough, Qhuinn was so totally fine with that.

When things eventually reached a pause that lasted longer than a minute and a half, Qhuinn released the tension in his arms and sank down to the bed, turning onto his side. Blay was apparently exhausted as well, his body following the lead and stretching out behind him.

Blay’s arm stayed in place.

And what mattered now, in spite of the whole experience, was the loose, heavy weight of that limb. Lying as it did, it made them not two males who’d had sex and happened to be side by side…but lovers.

In actuality, he’d never had a lover before—and not because he’d just bottomed for the first time in his life. He’d had plenty of sex. But there had never been someone he’d wanted to hold him afterward. Never someone he’d wanted to hold back.

Yeah…Blay was his first real lover.

And though he’d missed out on that honor when it came to the guy, it seemed apt that Blay be his. No one could ever take away your first—and he counted himself lucky. He’d heard through the grapevine that a lot of times it was either really painful—for females—or just such a mad scramble, nothing registered.

This, he would remember forever.

Behind him, Blay was still breathing deeply, the heat radiating from him, their bodies still joined.

And Qhuinn wanted to take advantage of this quiet space: Ever so slowly—like maybe if he didn’t move too fast the guy wouldn’t notice—he covered Blay’s forearm with his own…then put his hand over his friend’s.

Closing his eyes, he prayed that this was okay. That they could stay like this for just a little bit.

Shit, the sudden fear he felt was nothing short of torture, and it made him think about the nature of courage.

Specifically how little he’d had of it when it had come to Blay.

From out of the blue, he remembered telling the guy that he only saw himself with a female, long-term. That that was the reason he couldn’t take Blay up on what he was offering. At the time, he’d meant every word of it—but he hadn’t looked very far into the conviction.

He’d been a coward back then, hadn’t he.

“God, I feel raw,” he whispered.

“What?” came a sleepy response.

“I feel…” Exposed.

Like if Blay pulled away right now? He would shatter into pieces that would never fit together right again.

Blay let out a snuffle and jerked his arm, pulling Qhuinn closer, not pushing him off. “You cold? You’re shaking.”

“Warm me?”

There was some shuffling, and then a blanket was thrown over them both. Then the lights went off.

As Blay took a deep breath and seemed content to settle in for the duration, Qhuinn closed his eyes…and dared to thread his fingers through his best friend’s, forming a seal of their hands.

“You okay?” Blay asked in a muffled way. Like there was nothing but a pilot light left on in his brain—but he did care.

“Yeah. Just cold.”

Qhuinn opened his lids against the darkness. The only thing he could see was the line of light that came under the door at floor level.

As Blay drifted off, that breathing becoming ever more slower and even, Qhuinn stared ahead, even though he couldn’t see anything in front of him.

Courage.

He thought he’d had all he needed—that the way he’d grown up had made him tougher and stronger than anyone else. That the way he did his job, running into burning buildings or jumping into the captain’s seats of busted-up aircraft, proved it. That how he lived his life, essentially apart, meant he was strong. Meant he was safe.

The true measure of courage was still waiting for him, however.

After way too many years, he’d finally told Blay he was sorry. And then after way too much drama, he’d finally told the guy he was grateful.

But coming forward and being real about the fact that he was in love? Even if Blay was with someone else?

That was the true divide.

And goddamn him, he was going to do it.

Not to break the pair of them up—no, that wasn’t it. And not to burden Blay.

In this case, payback, as it turned out, was actually a pledge. Something that was made with no expectations and no reservations. It was the jump without a parachute, the leap without knowing, the trip and the fall without anything to catch you.

Blay had done that not once, but several times—and yeah, sure, Qhuinn wanted to go back to any of those moments of vunerability and beat his earlier incarnations so badly that his head cleared, and he recognized the opportunity he’d been given.

Unfortunately, shit didn’t run that way.

It was time for him to repay the strength…and in all likelihood, bear the pain that was going to come when he was turned down in a far more kindly manner than he’d provided for.

Forcing his lids down, he brought Blay’s knuckles to his mouth, brushing a kiss against them. Then he gave himself up to sleep, letting himself fall into unconsciousness, knowing that, at least for the next few hours, he was safe in the arms of his one and only.

SIXTY-EIGHT

The following evening, as night fell, Assail sat naked at his desk, his eyes tracing the computer screen in front of him. The monitor’s imaging was split into four quadrants that were marked north, south, east, and west, and from time to time, he manipulated the cameras, changing their focus and direction. Or mayhap he moved to other lenses around the house. Or went back to the ones he had been watching.

Having taken a shower and shaved hours ago, he knew he had to get dressed and go out. That lesser with the hearty appetite for product was up in arms, claiming he’d been cheated of a supply of cocaine. Except the twins had completed that particular transaction according to the slayer’s wishes —and they had it videotaped.

Just a little precaution Assail had initiated.

So he didn’t know what it was all about, but he was certainly going to find out: He had sent the recording to the lesser’s phone about an hour ago, and was awaiting a response.

Mayhap it was going to involve another face-to-face meeting.

And his disgruntled buyer was not the only thing hanging over him. It was getting to be that time of month when Benloise and he needed to do their own squaring up—a complicated transfer of funds that made everyone edgy, including Assail: Even though he did regular weekly payments, they totaled but a quarter of his actual purchases, and on the thirtieth, he was going to have settle the balance sheet up.

Lot of cash. And people could make very poor decisions when there was that much money in play.

There was also the issue that, for the first time, he was going to want the twins to accompany him. He didn’t imagine Benloise was going to appreciate the added company, but it was appropriate for his two associates to be brought further into the fold—and this payment was going to be the largest he’d ever made.

A record sure to be broken if he and that lesser continued to do business together.

Assail shifted the mouse. Clicked on one of the quadrants. Panned the security camera around, searching the backwoods behind his house.

Nothing moved. No shadows darted. Not even the limbs of the pines shifted in any kind of wind.

No tracks of skis. No hidden figure peering out.

She could be watching him from another vantage point, he thought. Across the river. Across the road. Down the lane.

With distraction, he reached out for the vial of powder he kept beside the keyboard. He had used toward the late afternoon, when the waning light of day had necessitated switching to night vision for the cameras. He had also used a couple of times since then, just to keep himself awake.

He had not slept for two days at this point.

Or was it three?

As he moved the tiny silver spoon around, drawing it in a circle at the base of the vial, all he got was the clinking of metal on glass.

He looked inside.

Evidently he had finished the lot of it.

Irritated by simply everything in his existence, Assail threw the vial aside and leaned back in his chair. As his mind spun and the compulsion to go from image to image to image tightened like a noose around his freedom of choice, he was dimly aware his brain was buzzing in an unhealthy manner.

He was locked in, however. Going nowhere rather quickly.

Where was his beautiful burglar?

Surely she could not have meant what she said.

Assail rubbed his eyes, and hated the way his mind was racing, thoughts rocketing back and forth from one side of his skull to the other.

He simply could not believe she meant to stay away.

As his phone went off, he reached for it with reflexes that were too quick, too pent-up. And when he saw who it was, he ordered his brain to pull itself together.

“Did you get the video?” he demanded, in lieu of “hello.”

His biggest client’s voice was not pleased. “How do I know when it was taken?”

“You must be aware of what your men were wearing at the time.”

“Then where is my product?”

“That is not for me to say. Once I make the deal with your representatives, my responsibility is discharged. I delivered the requested goods at the time and place of mutual agreement, and thus fulfilled my duty to you. What happens thereafter is not my concern.”

“If I ever catch you fucking with me, I’m going to kill you.”

Assail let out a bored breath. “My dear man, I wouldn’t waste my time with the likes of that. How would you then get what you require? And to that end, may I remind you that there is no incentive for me to be dishonest with you or your organization. The profit you represent is what matters to me, and I shall do my level best to keep the funds flowing my way. It’s business.”

There was a long silence, but Assail knew better than to assume that it was because the slayer on the other side of the conversation was confused or lost.

“I need another supply,” the lesser muttered after a moment.

“And I shall gladly provide it.”

“I need a loan.” Now Assail frowned—but the lesser continued before he could cut in. “You float me this next order, and I’ll make sure you get paid.”

“That is not how I do business.”

“Here’s what I know about you and yours. You have a small operation that controls a huge area. You need distributors—because you killed all the ones that were here before. Without me and my organization? No offense, you’re fucked. You can’t begin to service all of Caldwell—and your product is worth nothing if you can’t get it into the hands of users.” When Assail didn’t immediately reply, the lesser laughed softly. “Or did you think you were unknown, my friend?”

Assail gripped his cell phone hard.

“So I’m thinkin’ you’re right,” the slayer concluded. “You and me are homies. I don’t need to deal with whoever the big wholesaler is. Especially not in my…current incarnation.”

Yes, the smell alone would make Benloise shut the door in his face, Assail thought.

“I need you. You need me. And that is why you’re gonna bring my order to me and give me forty-eight hours to pay for it. It’s just like you said. We got shit without the other, brother.”

Assail bared his fangs, the reflection of his face in the glass of the monitor fearsome indeed.

And yet he kept his voice even and calm. “Where would you like to meet.”

As the lesser laughed again, like he was enjoying this, Assail focused on the snarling image of himself. It would be unwise for the slayer to get greedy, or take too many liberties.

The one thing that was always true about business? No one was irreplaceable.

As Trez came awake, he felt as though he were floating on a cloud—and for a split second, he wondered if he was. His body felt completely weightless, to the point where he wasn’t sure whether he was on his back or his stomach.

A strange sound filtered in through his fog.

Shhhscht.

He lifted his head, and orientation came to him in a rush: The red glow of his alarm clock told him he was on his stomach and running diagonally down the bed.

That sound came again.

What was it? Metal on metal?

He could sense iAm moving around down the hall, his brother’s presence as known to him as his own. So if it was anyone else in the apartment or a threat of any kind? iAm would handle that shit.

Pushing himself up, he got out of bed and—yeah, whoa, the room spun around. Then again, there was absolutely, positively nothing in his stomach. Matter of fact, it was possible he’d thrown up his liver, kidneys, and lungs during that migraine. The good news was that the pain was gone, and the spacey aftermath wasn’t bad. Kind of like being drunk, with the hangover front-loaded.

When he walked into the loo, he knew better than to turn on the lights. Little early for that still.

The shower felt so good he nearly teared the fuck up. And he didn’t bother shaving—there’d be time for that later, after he’d thrown some fuel into his gut. Robe was nice—toasty, especially as he curled the lapels in and covered his throat up.

Bare feet kind of sucked, especially as he stepped out of his bedroom and into the marble-floored hallway, but he needed to find out what the hell that—

Trez stopped as he came to the doorway of his brother’s suite of rooms. iAm was in his closet, taking out shirts that were on hangers. As he pulled another armful together on the brass rod, that shhhscht sounded again.

Naturally, his brother didn’t seem surprised that Trez had made an appearance. He just threw the load on his bed.

Fuck.

“Going somewhere?” Trez muttered, his voice too loud in his head.

“Yes.”

Crap. “Listen, iAm, I didn’t mean—”

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14