As the bed moved, Blay popped his lids. Saxton had come over to sit on the edge of the mattress, the male blotting his jaw and cheeks with a bloodred towel.
“No?” he repeated.
“May I ask you something?” Blay said. “And now would not be a good time to be your charming, sarcastic self.”
Instantly, Saxton’s stunning face grew grave. “Ask away.”
Blay smoothed the duvet over his chest. A couple of times. “Do I . . . please you.”
From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saxton recoil and just about died of embarrassment.
“You mean in bed?” Sax demanded.
Blay flattened his lips out as he nodded, and he thought maybe he might explain a little more, but as it turned out, his mouth was dry.
“Why would you ask that in a million years?” Saxton said softly.
Well, because there had to be something wrong with him.
Blay shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Saxton folded the towel and put it aside. Then he stretched an arm over Blay’s hips and leaned up until they were face-to-face.
“Yes.” With that, he put his mouth to Blay’s throat and sucked. “Always.”
Blay ran his hand across the male’s nape, finding the soft, curling hair at the base of his neck. “Thank God.”
The familiarity of the body poised over his was nothing he’d ever had before, and it felt right. It felt good. He knew every curve and corner of Saxton’s chest and hips and thighs. He knew the pressure points and the places to bite, knew exactly how to grip and roll and arch so that Saxton would come hard.
So, yes, he probably shouldn’t have had to ask.
Qhuinn, though . . . anything about that male unpeeled him and left him raw. And for all he had learned to bandage himself up on the outside, the wound remained just as bad and deep as the moment it had been made— when it became obvious that the one male he wanted above all others was never, ever going to be with him.
Saxton eased back. “Qhuinn can’t handle what he feels about you.”
Blay laughed harshly. “Let’s not talk about him.”
“Why not?” Saxton reached out and ran his thumb back and forth over Blay’s lower lip. “He’s here with us whether we do or we don’t.”
Blay thought about lying and then gave up the fight. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s all right—I know what I’m in.” Saxton’s free hand sneaked under the duvet. “And I know what I want.”
Blay groaned as that palm rubbed against what immediately became a thick erection. And as his hips lifted and he spread his legs for Saxton, he met the eyes of his lover and sucked that thumb into his mouth.
This was so much better than getting on the Qhuinn roller coaster—this he knew and he liked. He was safe here. He didn’t get hurt here.
And he had found a deep, sexual connection here.
Saxton’s stare was both hot and serious as he released what he’d found, pulled the covers off of Blay’s body and freed the knot on the tie of his own robe.
This was very good, Blay thought. This was right—
As his lover’s mouth found his collarbone and then drifted lower, Blay closed his eyes—except as he began to get lost in the sensations, what he saw was not Saxton.
“Wait, stop—” He sat up and took the other male with him.
“It’s okay,” Saxton said quietly. “I know where we’re at.”
Blay’s heart cracked a little. But Saxton just shook his head and put his lips back to Blay’s chest.
They had never spoken of love—and this made him realize they never were going to, because Saxton was indeed clear on things: Blay was still in love with Qhuinn—and probably always would be.
“Why?” he said to his lover.
“Because I want you for however long I have you.”
“I’m going nowhere.”
Saxton just shook his head against the tight abdominals he was nipping at. “Stop thinking, Blaylock. Start feeling.”
As that talented mouth went all the way down, Blay hissed in a breath and decided to take the advice. Because it was the only way to survive.
Something told him that it was only a matter of time before Qhuinn came forward and announced that he and Layla were getting mated.
He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. The two had been hooking up for weeks, and the Chosen had been in there again the day before—he’d caught her scent and sensed her blood next door.
And though this conviction could have just been a mental exercise to depress the hell out of himself, he felt like it was so much more than that. It was as if the fog that normally obscured the coming days and months and years had grown unbearably thin and the shadows of destiny were showing themselves to him.
Just a matter of time.
God, that was going to kill him.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he groaned.
“Me, too,” his lover said sadly around his erection. “Myself as well.”
FIFTY-NINE
The following evening, Payne paced around the front of the Brotherhood’s mansion, going from the dining room through the foyer and into the billiards room and back again. And again. And again.
Her male had departed from the house in the middle of the afternoon to “take care of some things.” And though he’d declined to inform her what they were, she’d very much enjoyed the slightly naughty smile on his face as he’d tucked her into the bed they’d fully used during the night—and then left.
No sleep for her after that. None at all.
There was too much to be happy about.
And surprised about.
Pausing in front of one of the French doors that opened into the courtyard, she thought of the photograph he’d shown her. It was so obvious he was of blooded relation to Butch—and thereby the king. But neither Manuel nor she was interested in risking a regression. No, she very much agreed with him on that. They had each other, and considering what they’d already overcome, there was no reason to chance a bad outcome.
Besides, the information would change nothing: The king had opened his house to her male even without a formal declaration of blooded affinity, and Manuel was going to be allowed to have contact with his human mother. Further, it had been decided that he would work here, with Doc Jane, but also with Havers. After all, the race needed more good doctors, and Manuel was superlative.
And as for her? She was going to go out and fight. Neither Manuel nor her brother was exactly thrilled with the danger she was going to face, but they were not going to stop her. In fact, after she had spoken to Manuel at length, he seemed to accept that that was a part of who she was. His only caveat was that she get the very best weapons—and her brother had insisted on seeing to that.
Fates, the two of them seemed to be getting along. And who could have ever predicted?
Moving to the next window down the line, she searched the darkness for headlights.
Where was he? Where was he . . .
Manuel was also going to talk to Doc Jane about the physical changes he’d experienced—changes that, given the way Payne glowed whenever they made love, were likely to continue. He was going to monitor his body and see what happened, and they were both praying that all she did was keep him healthy and perpetually young. Only time would tell.
With a curse, she doubled back, crossed the foyer . . . and entered the dining room.
