naked things. And the soap didn’t help.
And neither did the images of what would come after the two of them penetrated throats.
Blay planted one palm on the slick marble and the other on his rigid cock.
What he did was quick and about as satisfying as a piece of cold pizza: good, but not even close to a real meal.
The second trip through the park didn’t improve the situation and he refused his body the chance for a third. Because honestly. How skeevy. Qhuinn and Layla were taking care of business on the other side of the door while he was all Johnny Pneumonic in the hot water? Ew.
Getting out, he dried himself off, put on his robe and realized he hadn’t brought anything in to get dressed with. As he turned the knob on the door, he prayed that things were where he’d left them.
And they were, thank you, Scribe Virgin: Qhuinn had his mouth to Layla’s other wrist and was taking what he needed as the Chosen knelt beside him.
Nothing overtly sexual.
The relief that nailed Blay in the chest made him realize how angry he’d become—not just about this but everything that had to do with Qhuinn.
It was really not healthy. For anyone.
And besides, when everything boiled down, was it wrong that Qhuinn felt the way he did? You couldn’t help who you were attracted to... and who you weren’t.
Over at the closet, Blay pulled out a button-down and some black combats. Just as he turned around to head for the bathroom, Qhuinn lifted his mouth from Layla’s vein.
The male let out a satiated groan and extended his tongue toward the wounds he’d made with his fangs. As a flash of silver glinted, Blay’s brows popped. The ball piercing was a new one and he wondered who’d done it.
Probably Vishous. The pair were spending a lot of time together and that was how they’d gotten the ink for John’s tat—Qhuinn had lifted the bottle.
Qhuinn’s tongue lapped at the Chosen’s skin, that metal winking with each pass. “Thanks, Layla. You’re good to us.”
He gave her a quick smile and then shifted his legs off the bed, clearly on his way out. Layla, on the other hand, didn’t move. Instead of following suit and taking her leave, her head went down and her eyes locked on her lap—
No, on her wrists, which were flashing from under the yawning cuffs of her robe. As she swayed, Blay frowned.
“Layla?” he said, going over to her. “Are you all right?”
Qhuinn came right around the bed. “Layla? What’s doing?”
Now they were the ones kneeling before her.
Blay spoke clearly. “Did we take too much?”
Qhuinn went front and center with his own wrist, offering it to her. “Use me.”
Shit, she’d fed John the night before. Maybe this had been too soon?
The Chosen’s pale green eyes lifted to Qhuinn’s face, and there was no spacy disorientation to her stare. Just a sad, ancient longing.
Qhuinn recoiled. “What did I do?”
“Nothing,” she said in a voice that was too deep. “If you will pardon me, I shall take myself unto the sanctuary once again.”
Layla went to get up, but Qhuinn captured her hand and tugged her down. “Layla, what’s doing.”
God, that voice of his. So smooth, so kind. And so was his hand as he reached up and hooked her chin, lifting her eyes to his.
“I cannot speak of it.”
“Yeah, you can.” Qhuinn nodded in Blay’s direction. “He and I will keep your confidence.”
The Chosen took a deep breath and her exhale was one of defeat, like she was out of gas, out of options, out of strength. “For truth? You shall remain silent?”
“Yup. Blay?”
“Yes, absolutely.” He put his hand on his heart. “I swear. We’ll do anything to help you. Anything.”
She focused on Qhuinn, her stare locking on his. “Am I unpleasant to your eye, sire?” As he frowned, she prodded her cheekbones, her forehead. “Do I deviate from the ideal in a fashion which renders me—”
“God, no. What are you talking about? You’re beautiful.”
“Then... whyfore do I remain un-called-upon.”
“I don’t understand—we do call on you. Regularly. Myself and Blay and John. Rhage and V. You are the one we all ask for because you—”
“None of you use me for aught save blood.”
Blay rose from his kneel and backed up until his legs hit the chaise and he found himself sitting down. As his ass bounced on the cushion, the expression on Qhuinn’s face almost made him laugh. The guy was never caught off guard. Part of that was because he’d been exposed to so much over his relatively short life, both by choice and by curse. And part was his personality. He handled himself in all situations. Period.
Except this one, evidently. Qhuinn looked like he’d been smacked in the back of the head with a pool cue.
“I...” Qhuinn cleared his throat. “I... I...”
Ah, yes, another first. Stuttering.
Layla filled the silence. “I serve the males and Brothers within this place with pride. I give without receiving anything in return because it is my training and pleasure to do so. But I tell you this because you have asked and… I find I must. Every time I return to the sanctuary or to the Primale’s home, I find myself increasingly empty. To the point that I think I may step aside. Verily...” She shook her head. “I cannot keep doing this even though it is all I ever saw my endeavors entailing. It’s just... my heart cannot go on.”
Qhuinn dropped his hands and rubbed his thighs. “Do you want... Would you want to keep going if you could?”
“Of course.” Her voice was strong and sure. “I am proud to be of service.”
Now Qhuinn was dragging a hand through his thick black hair. “What would it take... to fulfill you?”
It was like watching a train wreck roll out. Blay should have left but he couldn’t move; he just had to witness the collision.
And naturally, Layla’s brilliant blush made her even more beautiful. Then her full, lovely lips parted. Closed. Parted... closed again.
“It’s okay,” Qhuinn whispered. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I know what you want.”
Blay felt a cold sweat break out over his chest and his hands cranked down on the clothes he’d picked out for himself.
“Who,” Qhuinn asked hoarsely. “Who do you want.”
There was another long pause and then she said one word: “You.”
Blay stood up. “I’ll leave you two.”
He was utterly blind as he made for the exit and he snagged his leather jacket on his way on instinct.
As he shut the door, he heard Qhuinn say, “We’ll go very slowly. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to go very slowly.”
Out in the hall, Blay put some fast distance between himself and his bedroom, and it wasn’t until he came up to the double doors that led into the staff wing that he realized he was walking around in a robe. Slipping into the set of stairs that led to the movie theater on the third floor, he changed into his clothes in front of the dormant popcorn machine.
The simmering anger deep in his gut was a kind of cancer, eating him up. But it was so baseless. So useless.
Blay stood facing the shelves of DVDs, the titles on the jackets nothing but a visual pattern to his eyes.
What he ended up reaching for wasn’t a movie, however.
It was a slip of paper from his coat pocket.
