Lover Unleashed

“Here you go,” the bartender said.

Qhuinn reached over, picked up the shot glass, downed the tequila, and put the empty back on the bar. “Let’s try that a couple more times.”

“Right away.” She flashed her double-Ds again, no doubt hoping he’d do a grab. “You’re my number one customer. ’Cuz clearly you can handle the juice.”

Uh-huh. Right. Like the ability to gullet up four ounces of liquor on a oner was a BFD. God, the idea someone with that value system was allowed to vote made him want to look for that sheet of glass again.

Humans were pathetic.

Although, as he turned back to look at the crowd, he thought maybe dialing down the attitude might be a good call. He was pretty fucking pathetic himself tonight. Especially as he caught sight of two men off in a corner, the pair of them separated only by the leathers they were wearing. Naturally, one was blond. Just like his cousin was. So naturally, hypotheticals of Blay with Saxton played through his inner polo field, marking up his proverbial grass with hoofprints and horseshit.

Except they weren’t hypotheticals, were they: At the end of every night, as the table at the Brotherhood’s mansion broke up after Last Meal and people went off to do their thing, Blay and Saxton always discreetly headed for the grand staircase and disappeared down the upstairs hall to their bedrooms.

They never held hands. Never kissed in front of anyone. And there were no covert hot glances, either. But then again, Blay was a gentleman. And Saxton the Classy Slut put on a good show.

His cousin was a straight-up whore—

No, he is not, a small voice pointed out. You just hate him because he’s balling your boy.

“He is not my boy.”

“What did you say?”

Qhuinn shot a glare at the kibitzer—and then pulled back on the hard-ass. Bingo, he thought.

Standing next to him was a human male, about six feet-ish tall with great hair, a good face, and very nice lips. Clothes were not totally Gothed out, but he had some chains on his hip and a couple of hoops in one of his ears. But it was the hair color that really did it.

“I was talking to myself,” Qhuinn murmured.

“Ah. I do that a lot.” The smile was brief and then the guy went back to nursing his . . .

“What are you drinking?” Qhuinn asked.

A half-empty glass was held up. “Vodka-’n’-tonic. I can’t stand the fruity shit.”

“Neither can I. I’m tequila. Straight up.”

“Patrón?”

“Never. I’m HD.”

“Ah.” The guy pivoted around and stared ahead at the crowd. “You like the real stuff.”

“Yup.”

Qhuinn wanted to ask whether Mr. V&T was checking out the guys or the chicks, but he kept that one on ice. Man, that hair was amazing. Thick. Curled at the ends.

“You looking for someone in particular?” Qhuinn said in a low voice.

“Maybe. You?”

“Definitely.”

The guy laughed. “Lot of hot women here. You can have your pick.”

Mother. Fucker. Just his luck: a hetero. Then again, maybe they could share something and take things from there.

The man leaned in and offered his palm. “I’m . . .”

As the two looked at each other full-on, the guy let the sentence trail off, but that didn’t matter. Qhuinn didn’t give a shit what the name was.

“Are your eyes different colors?” the man asked softly.

“Yup.”

“That’s really . . . cool.”

Well, yeah. Unless you were a vampire born into the glymera. Then it was a physical defect that meant you were genetically broken and therefore an embarrassment to your bloodline and utterly unmate-able.

“Thanks,” Qhuinn said. “What color are yours?”

“You can’t tell?”

Qhuinn tapped the tattooed tear underneath his eye. “Color-blind.”

“Ah. Mine are blue.”

“And you’re a redhead, aren’t you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your skin tone. Plus you’re pale and have freckles.”

“That’s amazing.” The guy glanced around. “It’s dark in here—I wouldn’t think you could tell.”

“Guess I can.” To himself, he added, And how about I show you some of my other tricks.

Qhuinn’s new buddy smiled a little and went back to checking out the crowd. After a minute, he said, “Why’re you looking at me like that.”

Because I want to fuck you. “You remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

“Someone I lost.”

“Oh, shit, sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was my fault.”

Little pause. “So you’re gay, huh.”

“No.”

The guy laughed. “Sorry. I just figured . . . Guess it was a good friend, then.”

No comment. “I’m about to get a refill. Why don’t I hook you up, too.”

“Thanks, man.”

Qhuinn turned around and signaled the bartender. As he waited for her to hopscotch over, he planned out his approach. Little more liquor. Then add some females to the mix. Step three was to go back into one of the bathrooms and fuck the girl(s).

Then . . . more eye contact. Preferably when one or both of them were inside a woman. Because as much as this redhead with the great hair appeared to be into chicks, the SOB had felt the connection when the two of them had looked at each other—and hetero was a relative term.

Kind of like virgin.

Which made two of them, didn’t it. After all, Qhuinn never, ever nailed redheads.

But tonight was going to be an exception.

SEVEN

As Payne lay on her metal slab beneath the odd chandelier of illumination, she couldn’t believe her healer was a human.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” His voice was quite deep and his accent was strange to her, but not one she hadn’t heard before: Her twin’s mate had the same intonation and inflection. “I’m going to go in and . . .”

While he spoke to her, he leaned down into her field of vision, and she liked when he did that. His eyes were a brown color, but not that of oak bark or old leather or the coat of a stag. They were a lovely reddish shade, like mahogany that had been polished—and just as luminous, she would venture to say.

There had been such a flurry of activity since his arrival, and one thing had become clear: He was well versed in the giving of orders and very confident in his job. Actually, there was something else, too. . . . He didn’t care that