His chin dipped, his eyes closing as though in sudden exhaustion. “I’m sorry, Zorah,” he said in a low voice. “We’ve come this far, but... the truth is, I have no idea what to do next.”
I frowned, tilting his head up with a touch to his chin until he opened his eyes and met mine. “I... don’t see that there’s much more we can do beyond hiding out, Rans. That’s not exactly something you need to apologize for.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “We were at least in a marginally tenable position before I sent Nigellus packing in St. Louis. Now we’re—” He broke off with a frustrated shake of the head.
“Kinda fucked?” I suggested wryly. “Well, at least we’re kinda fucked in nice surroundings with plenty of good food, horny old men for me to feed on, and a wide selection of blood types for you and Guthrie to choose from.”
He huffed, ducking his head again.
“Seriously, though,” I continued. “What were we supposed to do? Wrap Guthrie up with a bow and hand him over to Nigellus to tap on demand like a vampire-blood kegger party?”
A haunted look sculled across his features. “It might have kept you safer if I had.”
I grabbed his elbow. “Hey. No,” I said, my temper flaring. “I won’t ever be your excuse for screwing over the other people in your life who are important to you. Besides, that’s my grandfather you’re talking about... even if he probably wishes right now that he’d never met me.”
Rans’ spine curled until his forehead rested against mine. After the space of a few heartbeats, though, he straightened. “The point is, love—this is looking more and more like a no-win scenario. The only potential way out I can see right now is calling up Nigellus and throwing myself on his mercy—agreeing to let him take both of us to Hell and offering my blood in exchange for his protection against Myrial.”
My throat tightened and ached. I shook my head vehemently, ignoring the treacherous little voice that said maybe we could all be safe in Hell together—him and Guthrie and my father and me—a happy little family sheltered from the threat of the Fae.
But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.
“You can’t,” I said. “Guthrie won’t agree to go to Hell, no matter what, and if Nigellus has you at his beck and call, he doesn’t need a second vampire. Myrial will either try to reap his soul again, or come up with some other use for him that’s even worse.”
“Believe me,” Rans murmured. “I’m painfully aware.”
“Are you? Because you’re still tearing yourself up over this,” I told him, keeping my voice calm and non-judgmental. “You’ve been running basically non-stop for the better part of a week. No offense, but you need to let all of this shit go for a bit.”
He pushed away from the wall, his arms falling to his sides. “Easier said than done, love.”
I took a cleansing breath. “I know. And I have an idea about that, but you’re going to have to trust me. First, though, tell it to me straight. Are we safe for now? Can we just... rest for a day or two?”
His lips flattened. “We’re as protected as we can be from Myrial and Nigellus, out here surrounded by saltwater. It will either be enough to discourage them from coming for us, or it won’t. There’s not much we can do about it either way.”
“And the Fae?” I prompted.
“I don’t see how they could track us here so quickly. There isn’t enough of a trail for them to follow.”
I nodded, satisfied. “Okay, that’s kind of what I figured. So basically, you’re telling me that there’s no objective benefit to you continuing to fret like an overprotective mother hen. We’ll be in exactly the same amount of danger if you’re asleep for the next ten hours as we would be if you were awake and pacing a hole into the deck.”
The look he shot me was mildly irked. “Sleep? Again, love—easier said than done.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I quipped. When he looked blank, I gestured to my left with both hands, like Vanna White unveiling a prize. “See, this is how I know you’re running on empty. You’ve just backed a succubus up against the wall of an adult toy store, and you haven’t even made a joke about it yet.”
He followed my gesture to the sign lit up with flowing script—Carnal Desires. Then he let out a helpless snort of real amusement, lightening the weight in my chest.
“Unfortunately, my sixth sense only extends to warm-blooded pulses and supernatural auras,” he said. “I have to rely on you to sniff out sex toy shops.”
I grabbed him by the hand and tugged him toward the entrance. “Come on. I intend to buy something that will knock every single thought out of your head for a few hours, and I think I know just the thing. In fact, you promised not so long ago that you’d help me pick out the right one.”
He raised an eyebrow, only to lower it tolerantly as the relevant memory visibly recalled itself. “Ah. Yes. So I did. Well, come along, then. A promise is a promise, and never let it be said I’m not prepared to take my payback like a man.”
TWELVE
SUCH AS IT WAS, my knowledge of strap-on dildos came entirely from the pages of erotic romance novels. For this reason, it was probably just as well that I had Rans to offer real-world strap-on buying guidance.
As a side note, I found it mildly interesting that while Carnal Desires kept them hidden in the back, they also had a surprisingly eclectic selection. I took this to mean that the good ol’ boys club contained a fair number of men who appreciated getting their asses reamed by hot women, even if they didn’t necessarily want it known
