Blood Brothers (Rocky Mountain Shifters) (13 page)

“What are you talking about? He invited you here to get roughly fucked. I only enjoyed myself.”

“He was looking for something he already possessed. What he was looking for was confirmation. Then you reveled in the experience. He’s still processing that portion. Do you know how much he worries about you? That you’re headed for a breakdown?”

Tristen held up his hand. “Don’t go there. I’m fine. Fin understands me in a group of veterans talking about water under the bridge, isn’t going to happen. And last night, you and I both know, wasn’t anything more than physical. I get you, Santo. That mouth of yours is magical, but it could be addictive. Not alone, but with him. You’re the frosting on the cake.”

“Frosting?” It was Fin’s voice, pinched, coming from behind him.

He swung around to face Fin. The tent in his trousers immediate caught his lover’s glance. The hurt ran deep in Fin’s eyes and fuck if Tristen’s heart didn’t feel as though it were ripping a hole through his chest. Thank God he’d not taken out his dick.

“We were just discussing our relative positions insofar as what occurred last night.” That was utterly ridiculous; Tristen knew he should go to Fin, but he was frozen to the spot, unwilling to cause more damage.

“It looks as though you’re up to something. Unless your dick has learned to speak. Is this a new form of communication? What are you after, Tristen? His mouth, or are you just going to pretend you’re not about to come all over your shoes.”

“Hell, I just wanted a little relief. I’m not hiding. I’m keyed up after being in the bathroom with you naked. What changed from last night to this morning? And out of curiosity, what if you’d walked out here and Santo was sucking my dick. Do you care? Sulking and silence don’t give me a lot to go on. This was your idea. Not to mention what we did to him, and in-between, why would this be a problem now? I mean this is only a hard-on, the way you leave me when we’re together.”

“Because it just is, Tristen. I was in there. Not out here. If you wanted me, strange to find you in a room with a man who can suck dick like a master. You’re hard, he’s hard, and what? I’m intruding. Christ, it was one night, not what I envisioned for today or next week. I guess that’s not how you see it? Don’t answer me. I can see which head you’re thinking with. Damn you to hell.” He stormed past Tristen, ignoring Santo, picked up his clothing, and left the room.

The pain written all over Fin’s face didn’t require a mind reader to figure out. He was jealous, and the switch in him left Tristen unsure whether he should go after him or let him be until he was ready to talk. Maybe this would be a turning point and a place that, once they’d both calmed down, they could discuss. Definitely, Fin needed to settle down. He could count on one hand the times Fin had blown up, never mind storming out of a room and slamming a door on the other side of the house.

His dick went limp. Another first. He mumbled something incoherent to Santo about it being time to go, and walked down the hall before stopping in the living room. He listened to more slamming and stomping. Tris clenched his jaw, unable to form the words that would smooth this over.

Something crashed against a wall.

“Fuck.” Right now, Fin was moving around the guestroom, teeming with fury. His instinct was to go find Fin and slam him up against a wall, and tell him to stop. He held back, foreseeing the explosive problem of two angry shifters in a small room and him with an appointment. Time had him by the balls.

Santo came into the living room fully dressed. He took up most of the filtered air coming in through the eastern windows. The man’s skin in the daylight glowed with an opalescent sheen. His eyes were shadowed, the gauntness of his face pronounced, and his lips were pale in lieu of blood-red.

“You look like shit,” Tristen announced matter-of-factly.

“I’m hungry. I haven’t fed since yesterday.”

Hardly able to ponder much or string words into a lucid thought, Tristen removed his keys from his pocket. “A toasted bagel isn’t going to do it for you?”

“No. In Sherry’s guest house, I’ve several pints in the refrigerator. Can you swing by?”

Tristen lifted his case from the wall next to the front door. He glanced across the room toward the hall where muffled noise still arose.

“Roger that. We’d better get a move on, then. I’m pushing getting there on time as it is.” He ran his fingers through his still damp hair, deciding that any contact with Fin would ignite his partner. Without the right words, standing and staring weren’t a good defense. Fin’s disposition continued to unravel.

The walls of Tristen’s life were coming down all around him. Without Fin’s solid exterior, his own interior became a vortex spinning faster and faster out of control.

“Sherry’s place is not far from downtown.”

He didn’t do much other than lift his chin toward Santo when the vampire’s gaze stilled him. Tristen watched as the man levitated merely inches off the floor and then glided across the room. “That some fucking parlor trick?”

“It takes less energy than walking. I must conserve what I’ve got until I obtain nourishment.”

“You remind me of a diabetic who pushes boundaries. Clearly, you knew this would happen. Didn’t you?”

“I know my limits. I didn’t expect an emotional meltdown. They tend to drain me if I’m somehow involved. I may be cold-blooded. I’m not coldhearted. These issues stress me out, too. I like you both and have caused this strife.”

“Hell, no. This has been a long time coming.” He opened the door, frowning at Santo. “You know what they say about storms. Nature’s way of clearing the air. Fin and I have things to work out.”
No shit, Sherlock
.

He walked down the steps. Instead of taking the sports car, he opted for the roomier SUV parked beside the house. He didn’t need to sit in a cramped space with a man who’d gone from fuck buddy to hands-off status. On the drive, he’d sort through the mess his life had spiraled into this morning.

“Here, take this and program Sherry’s address.” He dropped the GPS into Santo’s outstretched palm as they drove down the mountain. In minutes, they hit the highway.

Maneuvering in the morning traffic, he switched lanes to keep his mind engaged, and the vampire next to him gripped the console dividing them.

“Santo, this morning we’ll meet with Shawn, but I don’t think he’ll have any real problems with you stepping in, as long as you’ve been above board. I texted our security department your info and by now, he’ll have had you investigated, so if there’s anything to divulge, now’s the moment.”

The man smiled, Cheshire-like. “Not a thing. I’ve nothing to hide.”

“I hope that’s not absolutely true, considering your references.”

“I think I’ve already established my lips are…tight.” Santo articulated every sound of the last word. Yet his expression didn’t reflect seduction or the attempt to tease. The vampire’s face reminded Tristen of humans subjected to Botox injections. His intense eyes were neither black nor red, but contained an obsidian sheen that drew him in. Santo’s smooth, unlined skin appeared like rubber pulled tight in the daylight glare. Neither attractive nor unattractive. Disconcerting and perplexing. When the vampire wasn’t in the mood to toy, it was easy to observe him objectively without some cat-and-mouse counterpart going down.

“What type of transportation do you have?”

Santo didn’t miss a beat. “Currently, a motorcycle. Do you know anything about vintage cycles?”

“Hit me. I peg you as a Czechoslovakian…CZ.”

Santo snorted. “Not exactly. 1952 Vincent Series C Black Lightning. I restore them. Previously I had a 1953 Black Shadow. This one is a much lighter, much faster ride.”

“Shawn will be impressed by your knowledge, but you’ll need something in case you have to transport him on the fly.” He laughed, feeling lighter since he’d left the house. “I don’t think a sidecar is optional.”

“I can get a car without any problem. This is merely a hobby.”

“I’m sure we can wrangle something from Shawn’s entourage of automobiles. He prefers we drive something that is routinely maintained by the company. I don’t blame him. I’m not like you. I know zero about automobile mechanics.”

“And Fin? Doesn’t he routinely take apart engines?” Santo stared out the windshield.

“Yes, on occasion. The ones he drives and owns. Not the other cars from the business.” Tristen answered more acerbically than he’d intended.

“The exit is coming on. Turn left.”

“You don’t use a GPS much, do you?”

“Right. You’ve got the directions right in front of you. Not really on a motorcycle.”

Tristen pulled into the circular driveway intersecting a large parcel of land. Private from the looks of things. The house sat almost a block back from the road on a bluff overlooking a valley crisscrossed by a large creek and pond. “Sherry has horses. Where does she find the time to deal with them? Does she actually ride?”

“Yes. She’s been riding since she was old enough to walk.”

He stared at Santo, unable to understand. “But don’t horses shy away from….”

“Not her. She’s very different. We share a thin blood tie on her mother’s side. I myself don’t bother with the beasts. They’re more a burden than a pleasure in my world.”

“Those are beautiful though.” Tristen pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll wait here. I’ve calls to make.”

“I’ll be right back.” Santo got out and glided up the walkway, hovering above the stone path. Sherry opened the door, kissing Santo on each cheek. They began speaking and whatever was said had Sherry’s brows drawn together.. She lifted her glance toward Tristen’s car, waving before she stepped back inside. She was one of the few women, aside from some female shifters, who he trusted. She kept her personal life buried and private. That, he respected.

Tristen leaned his head back and pressed his temples. His head pounded. That, he could cure with painkillers. His ribcage constricted. A lover’s spat, he reminded himself. Nothing more.

Then why did it feel as though his chest was being blasted open? The things he’d wanted to express to Fin now swam in his head.

He loved Fin, was in love with him, and needed to make their relationship permanent or as solid as they could manage. He wanted him, desperately, and this thwarted need had begun to spin inside him, disrupting his thoughts and perpetuating the bleakness of sensing his lover’s unhappiness, corrupting a perfectly good morning. Fuck. He thought being in love was supposed to be uplifting.

He rubbed his thumb against the side of his cell phone. What he needed to tell Fin wasn’t something for a text message. More than likely, Fin would be driving into the city and wouldn’t be up for a personal call at that moment.

He punched in the number of the business he’d planned on doing a random inspection on. With the surge of crime, he’d decided every business was going to get a going-over starting after the meeting with Shawn. He’d start Santo on a training course immediately. Getting the manager’s voicemail, he almost hung up, then rethought and left a message. A few more calls, and he had his iPad out. Making notes, he kibitzed with site managers, and within a few minutes he was into the groove of his job.

Santo opened the backseat door and laid a navy blazer across the seat. His pitch-colored hair was damp and combed back. Santo now glowed a buffed hue instead of the bluish color of skim milk.

“You look alive, whatever you did in there.”

“Yes. I feel like a million bucks. Almost live.” Santo laughed. “Excuse the black humor.”

“Everyone’s got their perspective. All right. Then let’s do this. We’re heading to Shawn’s office. Not more than ten minutes away.”

***

As he suspected, the meeting was more a formality that an actual interview. Santo was ushered back into the waiting area while Tristen met with Shawn.

“He’s an intriguing addition to our team.” Shawn picked up a file and handed it across the desk. “Remarkable find.”

“Thanks to Fin.”

“I think he’ll fit right in.”

“Interesting.” Tristen opened the folder to find black and white photographs of Santo taken with several well-known Hollywood beauties. Standing in the background, of course. The man definitely had the ability to keep a secret. Then Tristen flipped to a stack of photographs and the sea of naked flesh blinded him. And there Santo was, standing in a corner, his arms crossed over his chest.
His fully clothed chest
. Fuck. He wasn’t some bodyguard. He had to be a
keeper
. His records said he was fully able to work full moons, the hardest stint, and one edgy shifters and vampires typically avoided. Last night, Santo hadn’t seemed much of a keeper. He’d fucked like a banshee.

All the sex clubs had keepers, a staff member unaffected by gravitational pulls of the moon or tides. They were able-minded at all times. Shawn was the closest he’d seen to the temperament of a keeper, but he was the owner of the Den and an alpha leopard shifter. Almost a keeper, but not quite. It would behoove the Den to have a staff member charged with that position. Bodyguards never ever crossed a line with a club client. Ever. Not easy, given the temptation, but they were paid well for the ability to stay the course. One mistake and the male or female was banned from the profession.

“I take it he’s a keeper? In more ways than one?”

“Yes. But I’m thinking Vegas. Not here in Denver. Our business there is less stable. Reports are coming back that things are heating up. In other ways than here. Train him, get him ready, and then we’ll drop him in the middle of
Sodom and Gomorrah
.”

“Will do.”

Shawn picked up his phone. “Trish, send in Mr. Camio. Thanks.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Tristen and Santo walked out of Shawn’s office. Tristen narrowed his eyes and jerked his chin at Santo. “Let’s get you ready.”

The receptionist smiled broadly at the vampire. Another member for his fast-growing fan club.

“What about turning in the personnel forms?”

“Come with me for just a minute.” Tristen walked down the hall toward an office he used at Matrix. Allowing Santo to enter first, he closed the door behind him.