Lover Unleashed (65 page)

FIFTY-EIGHT

“
B
e came to see you.”

From Blaylock’s vantage point on the bed, Saxton son of Tyme was showing him his very best side. Which, no, was not his ass. The male was shaving in the mirror in the bathroom, and his perfect profile was bathed in the soft overhead light.

God, he was a beautiful male.

On so many levels, this lover he had taken on was everything he could want.

“Who,” Blay said softly.

The eyes that shifted over to meet his were all about the oh-puhlease.

“Oh.” To dodge any further conversation, Blay looked down at the duvet that was pulled up to his bare chest. He was naked under the satin weight. As Saxton had been until he’d put his robe on.

“He wanted to know if you were okay,” Sax continued.

Since
oh
had already been used as a reply, Blay spiced it up with, “Really.”

“It was out on the terrace. He didn’t want to come in and disturb us.”

Funny, when he’d been on the verge of passing out after his stomach had been stitched up, he’d dimly wondered what Saxton had been doing out there. But he’d been in so much pain at the time, it had been hard to think too much about anything.

Now, though, he felt a terrible thrill go through him.

Praise the Scribe Virgin, it had been a while since he’d had this old familiar tingle—although the time lapse didn’t diminish the sensation. And the rush that followed to ask what had been said was nothing he could act on. It was disrespectful to Saxton, for one thing. And it was pointless, for another.

Good thing he had plenty of ammunition to shut himself up with: All he had to do was think of Qhuinn coming home a week or so ago, his hair a mess, his scent clouded by some man’s cologne, his swagger all about the satisfaction he’d grabbed on the run.

The idea that Blay had thrown himself at the male not once, but twice—and gotten shut down? He just couldn’t bear to think of it.

“You don’t want to know what he said?” Saxton murmured as he drew the sharp blade up his throat, skillfully avoiding the bite mark Blay had given him a half hour ago.

Blay closed his eyes and wondered if he was ever going to get away from the reality that Qhuinn would fuck anyone and anything except him.

“No?” Saxton asked.

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

T
he 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.

Down at the third window in the row, she glanced up into the heavens. She had no interest in going to see her mother. It would have been wonderful to share her love with those who had brought her into the world. But her sire was dead, and her
mahmen
? She didn’t trust the Scribe Virgin not to imprison her again: Manuel was a half-breed. Hardly the pure stock her mother would have approved of—

The pair of glowing eyes mounting the rise upon which the compound was built made her heart race. And then there was the music—a thumping beat curling in through the glass.

Payne tore out of the dining room and ripped across the mosaic depiction of an apple tree in full bloom. She was out through the vestibule and into the dark night a moment later—

She skidded to a halt at the top of the steps.

Manuel had not come back unaccompanied. Behind his Porsche, there was a massive vehicle of some sort . . . a huge, two-part vehicle.

Her male got out from behind the wheel of his car. “Hi,” he called out.

He was all smiles as he came up to her, put his hands on her hips, and brought her against his chest. “I missed you,” he murmured against her mouth.

“Me, too.” Now she was smiling as well. “But . . . whatever have you brought?”

The elderly butler stepped out from behind the wheel of the other vehicle. “Sire, shall I—”

“Thanks, Fritz, but I’ll take care of it from here.”

The butler bowed low. “It has been a pleasure to have been of service.”

“You’re the best, man.”

The
doggen
was positively beaming as he danced into the house. And then her male turned to her.

“Stay here.”

As a stamping sound emanated from inside the big contraption, she frowned. “Of course.”

After kissing her again, Manuel disappeared around the far side.

Doors opening. More stamping. Creaking and a rolling sound, followed by a rhythmic thumping. And then—

The whinny told her what she had not dared to hope for. And then his beautiful filly backed down a ramp and was brought around to her.

Payne clasped her hands to her mouth as tears formed. The horse was mincing with grace, her sleek coat shining in the light that bled from the house, her strength and vitality returned to her.

“What . . . whatever is she here for?” Payne said hoarsely.

“Human men give their fiancées something as a token of their love.” Manuel smiled broadly. “I thought Glory was better than any diamond I could buy you. Means more to me . . . and hopefully, to you, too.”

When she made no response at all, he held out the leather lead that was clipped to the horse’s bridle. “I’m giving her to you.”

At that, Glory let out a tremendous whinny and pranced as if she agreed with this change in ownership.

Payne wiped her eyes and threw herself at Manuel, kissing him deeply. “I have no words.”

And then she accepted the lead as Manuel went all robin-chested with pride.

Taking a deep breath, she—

Before Payne was conscious of moving, she sprang up into the air, mounting Glory as if the pair of them had been together for years, not minutes.

And the horse needed no heel, no permission, no anything—Glory leaped forward, clawing her hooves into the pebbles and taking off at a dead run.

Payne wound her fingers through the long black mane and balanced herself perfectly upon the strong back that surged beneath her. As the wind hit her face, she laughed in pure exultation as they took off in a streak of joy and freedom. Yes . . . yes! A thousand yesses!

To set upon the night.

To have freedom to move.

To have love waiting upon her.

This was more than just being alive. This was to
live
.

As Manny stood by the horse trailer and watched his girls take off together, he was out of his damn mind with happiness. They were a perfect match, the pair of them cut from the same cloth, and both were whole and strong and tearing through the darkness at a gallop that most cars would have trouble keeping up with.

Okay. Maybe he teared up just a little. But what the fuck. This was an incredible night for—

“I saw this.”

“Jesus
Christ
—” He grabbed his cross and wheeled around. “Do you always sneak up on people?”

Payne’s brother didn’t answer—or perhaps couldn’t. The vampire’s eyes were locked on his sister and her galloping horse, and he seemed as moved as Manny was.

“I thought it was a stallion, though.” Vishous shook his head. “But yeah, this is what I saw . . . her on a black Thoroughbred, her hair in the breeze. I didn’t think it was the future, though . . .”