wouldn’t have let her get past the no-kissing proposition—he would have taken what he wanted on his terms, and to hell with how much it might have hurt her. Or whether it killed her.
“Look at me,” Xcor commanded.
When those wide, shell-shocked eyes lifted to his, he erased her memory of being here, putting her in a trance. Instantly her respiration calmed, her body resuming its loose, relaxed composure, her frantic, jerky hands stilling.
Gathering up the money, he put it in her lap. She deserved it for whatever bruises she was going to have in the morning.
Then with a groan, Xcor sank down and arranged himself against the wall next to her, stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles. He had to go pick up his satchel of goodies and his scythe at the skyscraper, but at the moment, he was too exhausted to move.
No feeding for him tonight, however. Even with the hypnosis.
If he took the vein of the woman next to him, he was liable to kill her: He was viciously hungry, and he didn’t know how heavily she had been tapped. For all he knew, her loopiness was low blood pressure.
Across the way, he watched his soldiers fucking, and he had to admit the rhythms of the bodies were erotic. Under different circumstances, he imagined Zypher would have merged the two pairings into one large tangle of arms and legs, breasts and hands, cocks and slick slits. Not here, though. The room was filthy, not secure and cold.
Easing his head back against the wall, Xcor closed his eyes and kept listening.
If he fell asleep, and his soldiers questioned whether he had fed, he would just use the other vampire’s aftermath to explain away their concern.
And there would be time to sink his teeth into another source later.
In truth, he hated feeding. Unlike the Bloodletter, he got no thrill from forcing himself upon women and females—and God knew, none of them had ever come willingly unto him.
He supposed he owed his life to prostitutes.
As someone else started to orgasm again, this time one of his soldiers—Throe, if he had to guess—he imagined himself with a different face, a handsome face, a comely face that summoned females rather than sent them screaming.
Mayhap he should be removing his own spine.
But that was the beauty of inner thoughts. No one had to know your weaknesses.
And once you’d finished dwelling on them, you could toss them into the mental trash bin they belonged in.
EIGHTEEN
Qhuinn had never been good at waiting. And that was when shit was going okay. Considering he’d just lied twice about where John Matthew was?
Not a happy camper.
As he loitered at the hidden door by the grand staircase—so he could duck into the tunnel if anyone came by—he had the best view of the foyer you could get. Which meant when the vestibule’s door opened, he got an eyeball full of his absolutely
He should have known his luck wouldn’t have had it otherwise.
Blay held the way open, like the gentlemale he was, and as Saxton stepped through, the bastard tossed a lingering, half-lidded stare over his shoulder.
Man, that kind of “look” was worse than the pair of them sucking face in public.
No doubt they’d been out for a nice meal and then gone back to Saxton’s place for a little play of the sort that was hard to have here in the mansion. Total privacy was not something you could find on a bet around the compound—
As Blay removed his Burberry coat, his silk button-down pulled wide, and showed off a bite mark on his neck. And on his collarbone.
God only knew where else he had them.…
Abruptly, Saxton said something that made Blay blush, and the slightly shy, reserved laugh that followed made Qhuinn want to throw the fuck up.
Great, so the slut was a comedian, and Blay liked his jokes.
Fantastic.
Yup.
On that note, Saxton went up the stairs. Blay, on the other hand, came around the—
“Hi.”
Qhuinn’s hands stilled. His body stilled. His heart… stilled.
That voice. That soft, deep voice he’d heard nearly all his life.
Straightening his spine, he fucked off the escape idea, turned around, and faced his former best friend like the male he was. “Hi. Have a good night?”
Shit, he wanted to take that one back. As if the guy hadn’t?
“Yes, and you?”
“Yeah. Good. John and I went out. He’s back now, and we’re going to go hit the weight room. He’s getting changed.”
Tough to know whether the lying or the burn in his chest was making him so chatty.
“No Last Meal for you?”
“Nah.”
Cue crickets in the background. The
God, Blay’s eyes were so damned blue. And… holy crap, the two of them were actually alone. When was the last time that had happened?
Oh, yeah. Right after Blay had hooked up with his cousin for the first time.
“So you’ve taken out your piercings,” Blay said.
“Not all of them.”
“Why? I mean… they were always, like,
“Guess I don’t want to be defined that way anymore.”
As Blay’s brows popped, Qhuinn’s kind of wanted to do the same. He’d expected something else to come out of his piehole. Something like, “Meh.” Or, “Whatever.” Or, “I still got ’em where it counts, don’t you worry.”
After which he could honk his package, and snort like he had balls the size of his head.
No wonder Saxton seemed attractive.
“So, yeah…” he said. Then cleared his throat. “So how are things with… you guys?”
Cue second trip to the heavens for those red eyebrows. “I’m good—we’re… ah, good.”
“Good. Ah…”
After a moment, Blay glanced over his shoulder, toward the door into the butler’s pantry. Clearly, it was the beginning of a back-away.
“Are you feeling okay?” Blay murmured.
“Yeah. I’m going to go work out with John.” He’d already said that. Fuck. This was a train wreck. “So there you go. Where you headed?”
“I’m going to go… get some food for Sax and myself.”
“No Last Meal for you guys, either. Guess we have that in common.” Someone bust out the pom-poms and cheer for the team. Yay. “So, yeah, enjoy yourself. Selves, I mean—”
