Lover Mine

John’s body arched and his palms smacked against the wall as he came. After it was done, he dragged her to her feet and kissed her long and hard... with an inkling of returning the favor on her—

Xhex nicked his lower lip on purpose and lapped at the tiny slice she’d made. “Bed. Now.”

Roger. That.

John relit the ceiling fixtures and they all but ran up to the mansion.

Funny, that bum leg didn’t bother him in the slightest.

Blay stayed out of the room Saxton had been given during and after the feeding, but he wasn’t allowed to leave the mansion to get some head space. Qhuinn’s cousin was considered, under the Old Laws, a male guest of his within the house of the First Family, and as such, protocol demanded that he remain on the premises.

At least fighting with the others would have given him a sense of accomplishment and helped the time to pass faster.

After Phury had arrived with Selena, and introductions had been made, Blay had gone to his own room and rationalized the peace out by telling himself he had to straighten things up there. Unfortunately, the Maids R Us routine had taken all of two minutes and involved repositioning the book he’d been reading on the bedside table... and moving a pair of black silkies out of his colored-socks drawer to their brethren down below.

One of the curses of being neat was that there was never any major overhauling to be done on the tidy-up front.

He’d also had a haircut recently, too. Nails were clipped. No manscaping to do, thanks to the fact that vampires were hairless except for on their heads.

Ordinarily if he had time to kill, he called home to catch up with his parents, but given what was going through his mind, the number to the family safe house was not something he was dialing. Bottom line? He sucked at lying and wasn’t about to loop his mom and dad: Hey, guys, you don’t know this yet, but I’m gay... and I’m thinking about dating Qhuinn’s cousin.

Oh, and he’s here, by the way.

Feeding.

God, the idea that Saxton was taking someone’s vein was hot as hell—even though it was Selena’s.

And except for the fact that Phury was in there with the pair of them. For decorum rather than her protection of course.

So, yeah, no way he was going anywhere near that room. Last thing he wanted was to get aroused in front of an audience.

Blay glanced at his watch. Paced. Tried to watch TV. Picked up the book he’d repositioned for a while.

From time to time his phone went off with reports from the field, none of which helped his twitchy mood. The Brotherhood always sent out regular communiqués so everyone had up-to-the-moment intel, and things were not great: John had been injured, so he and Xhex and Qhuinn were down with Doc Jane in the clinic. The infiltration at the farmhouse had been successful, but only up to a point—the suspected Fore-lesser was still at large and they had gotten many, but not all, of the new recruits they’d found. Address tied to that street racer had yielded nothing but snores. Tensions were running high.

He checked his watch. Then the clock on the wall.

And felt like screaming.

Christ, it had been so long since Saxton and Selena had started. Why had no one come and gotten him when it was done?

What if something was wrong? Doc Jane had said the guy’s injuries were not life-threatening and that feeding would put him well on the road to recovery—

Then again, if any Brother was likely to get along with Saxton, it was the Primale. Phury loved opera and art and good books. Maybe the two had gotten to talking afterward?

Eventually he couldn’t stand his own company and went downstairs to the kitchen, where the doggen of the household were getting Last Meal ready. He tried to help, offering to put out plates or silver, or chop vegetables in the kitchen, or baste the turkeys that were roasting—but the staff got so flustered, he backed off.

Man, if there was one thing guaranteed to get a doggen all turned around, it was a bid to pitch in. By nature, they couldn’t bear someone they served doing anything except getting waited on— but they also couldn’t handle denying a request from said party.

Before spinning heads led to burned dinner and possible mass suicide, he left the pantry and came out through the dining room—

The vestibule’s door opened and shut and Qhuinn stalked across the foyer’s mosaic floor.

There was red blood on the guy’s face and hands and leathers. Fresh, glistening blood.

Of the human variety.

Blay’s first instinct was to shout to his buddy, but he held back because he didn’t want to draw a ton of attention to the fact that Qhuinn had very obviously been where John wasn’t.

Noooot a lot of Homo sapiens down at the clinic in the training center.

And he’d supposedly been fighting initiates, who bled black.

Blay hit the stairs and caught up with the guy right in front of Wrath’s study—the doors of which were mercifully closed. “What the hell happened to you?”

Qhuinn didn’t stop, just powered onward to his room. Slipping inside, he made like he was going to close the door in Blay’s face.

So not having any of that, Blay thought, as he shoved himself inside. “What’s up with the blood?”

“I’m not in the mood,” Qhuinn muttered as he started to undress.

He discarded his leather jacket on the bureau, disarmed himself at the desk, and kicked his boots off halfway to the bathroom. His T-shirt got tossed over his shoulder and ended up on a lamp.

“Why’s there blood on your hands?” Blay repeated.

“None of your business.”

“What did you do.” Even though he had a feeling that he knew. “What the hell did you do?”

As Qhuinn leaned into the shower to start the water, the corded muscles along his spine flexed above the waistband of his leathers.

God, that red blood was on him in other places, too—which made Blay wonder just how far the beat-down had gone.

“How’s your boy?”

Blay frowned. “My boy—oh, Saxton.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh. Saxton.’” Steam began to rise from the glass-encased shower, the mist boiling up and then falling between them. “How’s he doing?”

“I guess he’s been fed by now.”

Qhuinn’s mismatched eyes focused somewhere behind Blay’s head. “Hope he feels better.”

As they faced off at each other, Blay’s chest hurt so badly he had to rub it. “Did you kill him.”

“Him? Who?” Qhuinn put his hands on his hips, his pecs and his pierced nipples standing out in high relief, thanks to the lights over the sinks. “I don’t know no ‘him.’ ”

“Stop bullshitting. Saxton is going to want to know.”

“Protective of him, are you.” There was no hostility to the words. Just an uncharacteristic resignation. “Okay, fine, I didn’t kill anyone. But I gave that homophobic asshole something to think about other than the throat cancer those cigars will be giving him. I won’t have my family members being disrespected.” Qhuinn turned away. “And— well, fuck, I don’t like you upset, believe it or not. If Saxton had been left for dead and the sun came up? Or humans had found him? You’d have never gotten over it. Couldn’t not settle that score.”

God, wasn’t that just like the son of a bitch. Doing the wrong thing for the perfect reason...

“I love you,” Blay whispered so quietly that the sound of the rushing water drowned out the words.

“Listen, I need a shower,” Qhuinn said. “I want to get the nasty off of me. And then I need to sleep.”

“Okay. Yeah. You want me to bring you some food?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

As he started to leave, Blay glanced over his shoulder. Qhuinn was stripping his leathers off, his ass making a spectacular appearance.