Lover Mine (52 page)

She glanced around the forest behind and before her. Where was the Omega’s golden boy in all of this?

Moving around to the front of the house, she saw a postman who was clearly struggling with some PTSD as he gave a statement to a uniform.

U.S. Postal Service to the rescue.

No doubt he’d been the one to drop a dime. . . .

Staying camo’d, she just observed the scene, watching the cops fight their gag reflexes to do their jobs, and waiting for Lash to make himself known—or for any other
lesser
to make an appearance. When the television crews showed up about a minute and a half later, she played witness to an almost beautiful blond woman doing a poor man’s Barbara Walters on the lawn. The second the taping was finished, she started pestering the cops for information until she annoyed them enough that they let her get a gander of what was doing inside.

Didn’t that just slap the serious journalist right out of her.

As she went full chick and passed out into the arms of one of the uniforms, Xhex rolled her eyes and headed around back again.

Shit. She might as well get comfy. She’d come jonesing for a fight, but as so often happened in war, she was in a waiting game until the enemy showed.

“Surprise.”

She wheeled around so fast, she nearly lost her balance: The only thing that saved her from falling over was the counterbalance of her dagger hand, which was raised up high, over her shoulder, ready for use.

 

 

“I wish we’d showered together.”

As Blay choked on the coffee he’d made them both, Saxton sipped at his cup just fine. To the point where it was pretty obvious the guy both engineered and enjoyed the reaction he’d gotten.

“I really like surprising you,” the male said.

Bingo. And naturally, those damn fool redhead genes made hiding a blush impossible.

Easier to put a sedan in your pocket. It was
that
obvious.

“And you know, the environment is important. Water conservation and all that. Go green . . . or naked as it were.”

Saxton was lounging against the satin pillows of his bed in a silk robe, whereas Blay was stretched out all along the base of the mattress, weighing down the extra duvet that had been folded so precisely. Candlelight turned the scene into something out of a fantasy, the glow blurring all kinds of lines and boundaries.

And what do you know, Saxton was beautiful amid all the dark chocolate bedding, his pale hair so thickly waved, it seemed sculpted even though it was unmoussed, unsprayed. With his half-mast eyes and his smooth chest partially exposed, he was ready, willing . . . and, given the scent he was throwing off, able to be what Blay needed.

At least on the inside. His exterior wasn’t quite up to the job: His face remained swollen, his lips puffy not from an erotic pout, but some asswipe’s punch, and he moved carefully, as if there were still a lot of black-and-blues on him.

Which was not cool. His injuries should have been healed up by now, some twelve hours following the attack. He was an aristocrat, after all, and had a good blood line.

“Oh, Blaylock, whatever are you doing here.” Saxton shook his head. “I still don’t know why you came.”

“How could I not have.”

“You like being a hero, don’t you.”

“It’s not heroic just to sit with someone.”

“Don’t underestimate that one,” Saxton said gruffly.

Which made Blay wonder. The guy had been his usual cool, slightly sarcastic self all morning and afternoon—but he had been attacked. Brutally.

“Are you okay?” Blay said softly. “Really okay.”

Saxton stared into his coffee. “I find it difficult to fathom humanity sometimes, I truly do. Not just in that race, but our own.”

“I’m sorry. About last night.”

“Well, it got you in my bed, didn’t it.” Saxton smiled as much as he could, given that half of his mouth was distorted. “Not exactly the route I had planned to take to get you here . . . but it is lovely looking at you in the candlelight. You have the body of a soldier, but the face of an earnest scholar. The combination is . . . intoxicating.”

Blay finished what was in his cup on a oner and nearly choked. Or maybe that was less what he was drinking and more what he was hearing. “Do you need a refill on the coffee?”

“Not right now, thank you. It was perfectly made, by the way, and that was also an excellent, if obvious, deflection.”

Saxton put his cup and saucer on his ormolu bed stand and resettled himself with a groan. To keep himself from staring at the guy, Blay put his cup on the blanket chest below and let his eyes wander around. Upstairs was all Victorian Empire, with heavy mahogany furniture and Oriental rugs and gorgeous, lush colors—which he’d learned during his excursions to the kitchen. The understated and proper and reserved got left at the cellar door, however. Down here it was all straight-up boudoir, everything French, with curving marble-topped tables and dressers and formal needlepoint rugs. Lot of satin and . . . black-and-white pencil drawings of gorgeous males reclining very much in the same way Saxton was.

Only without the robe.

“Do you like my etchings,” Saxton drawled.

Blay had to crack up. “What a line.”

“I use it sometimes. I’m not going to lie.”

Abruptly, Blay had an image of the male naked and making love on this very bed, his flesh twisting and turning with another’s.

Surreptitiously checking his watch, he realized he had another seven hours here and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted them to pass at a crawl or in a blink.

Saxton closed his lids and didn’t so much sigh as shudder.

“When was the last time you fed?” Blay asked.

Those heavy lids lifted and bright gray flashed. “Are you volunteering?”

“I meant from a female.”

Saxton grimaced as he rearranged himself on the pillows. “A while. But I’m fine.”

“Your face looks like a chessboard.”

“You say the
sweetest
things.”

“I’m serious, Saxton. You won’t show me what’s going on under that robe, but if your face is any indication, you’re hurting in other places.”

All he got back was an
mmm
.

“Now who’s deflecting.”

There was a long pause. “Saxton, I’m going to get you someone to feed from.”

“You keep females in your back pocket?”

“Mind if I use your phone again?”

“Suit yourself.”

Blay got up and went into the bathroom, preferring a little privacy because he had no clue how this was going to go.

“You could use the one right here,” Saxton called out as he shut the door.

Blay came back out ten minutes later.

“I didn’t know eHarmony worked that quickly,” Saxton murmured, his eyes remaining shut.

“I have connections.”

“Yes, you do.”

“We’re going to be picked up here at nightfall.”

That raised the blinds on those eyes. “By whom? And where are we off to?”

“We’re going to take care of you.”

Saxton drew in a breath and exhaled on a wheeze. “Coming to the rescue again, Blaylock?”

“Call it a compulsion.” On that note, he went over to a chaise longue and lay on it. Pulling a luscious fur throw over his legs, he blew out the candle next to himself and got comfortable.

“Blaylock?”

God, that voice. So low and quiet in the dim light.

“Yes.”

“You’re turning me into a poor host.” There was a slight hitch of breath. “That chaise is no place for you to sleep.”

“I’ll be fine.”

There was a silence. “You won’t be cheating on him if you join me in bed. I’m in no condition to take advantage of your virtue, and even if I were, I respect you enough not to put you in an awkward position. Besides, I could use the body heat—I can’t seem to get warm enough.”

Blay wished like hell he had a cigarette. “I wouldn’t be cheating on him even if . . . something happened between you and me. There’s nothing there. Friends, just friends.”

Which was the reason this situation with Saxton was so damned weird. Blay was used to being in front of that closed door, the one that kept him out and away from what he wanted. Saxton, however, offered an archway, something he could walk through easily . . . and the room on the other side was gorgeous.

Blay held out for about a minute and a half. Then, feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, he shifted the white fur to the side and stood up.

As he crossed the room, Saxton made space for him, lifting up the sheets and duvet. Blay hesitated.

“I don’t bite,” Saxton whispered darkly. “Unless you ask.”

Blay slipped in between all that satin . . . and got an immediate idea why silk bathrobes were the way to go. Smooth, so smooth.

Something more
naked
than naked.

Saxton turned on his side to face Blay, but then moaned . . . in pain. “Damn it.”

As the male eased over onto his back again, Blay found himself following and putting his arm over Saxton’s head. When the male leaned upward, Blay made a pillow of his biceps and Saxton took full advantage, nestling in.

The candles extinguished one by one except for the votive in the bathroom.

Saxton shivered and Blay moved closer, only to frown.

“God, you are cold.” Drawing the male into his arms, he held Saxton and willed his body heat into the guy.

They lay together for the longest time . . . and Blay found himself stroking that thick, blond, perfect hair. It felt good . . . soft, springy at the ends.

Smelled like spices.

“That feels divine,” Saxton murmured.

Blay closed his eyes and breathed deep. “I agree.”

“W
hat the hell are you two doing here?” Xhex hissed as she lowered her dagger.

Trez’s expression gave her a big-ass helping of
well, duh
. “Rehv called us.”

Characteristically, iAm stayed quiet at his brother’s side; he just nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, doing an excellent impression of an oak tree that was going nowhere. And as the twin Shadows stared down at her, they were shielding themselves, revealing their bodies and voices only to her.

For a moment, she regretted their discretion. Hard to knee the busy-bodies in the balls when they were in their ghosting form.

“No hugs?” Trez murmured while he searched her face. “Been a lifetime since we saw you.”

Answering him back on a frequency the humans and any
lessers
wouldn’t be able to hear, she muttered, “I’m not a hugger.”

Except then she cursed and wrapped her arms around the two steak-heads anyway. The Shadows were notoriously private with their emotions and harder to infiltrate than humans or even vampires, but she could feel their pain over what she had been through.

As she went to pull back, Trez tightened his hold and shuddered. “I’m . . . Jesus Christ, Xhex . . . we didn’t think we were ever going to see you again—”

She shook her head. “Stop. Please. There’s never a good time for that and here is certainly not the place. I love you both, okay, and I’m tight. So let’s drop it.”

Well, sort of tight. As long as she didn’t think about John stuck back at that mansion, no doubt going insane. Thanks to her.

Ah, how history repeated itself.

“I’ll stop before we get morbid.” Trez smiled, his fangs showing bright white against his ebony face. “We’re just glad you’re all right.”

“Stipulated. Or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Not sure about that,” he said under his breath as he and his brother looked through the window. “Wow. Someone had fun in there.”

A stiff breeze whiffled through, bringing a fresh blast of baby powder from a new direction, and all three of their heads turned.

Out on the dirt lane in front of the house, a car rolled by that had no business anywhere near cornfields. The thing was all
Fast & Furious
, a Honda Civic that had been to the automotive plastic surgeon’s and gotten a
Play-boy
makeover: With a whale tail and an air dam that left about a three-inch ground clearance as well as a paint job that was gray and pink and a retina-burning yellow, it was like a Midwestern girl who’d fallen into porn.

And what do you know . . . the
lesser
behind the wheel had an expression that didn’t match the juice he was driving. Unless someone had just pissed in his gas tank.

“I will bet my forties that’s the new
Fore-lesser
,” Xhex said. “No way Lash would allow a second in command that kind of ride. I spent four weeks with that fucker and everything was all about him.”

“Switch at the top.” Trez nodded. “Happens a lot with them.”

“You’ve got to follow that car,” she said. “Quick, get on him—”

“Can’t leave you. Orders from the boss.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Xhex looked from the Civic to the crime scene, then back to the departing whale tail. “Go! We need to track him—”

“Nope. Unless you want to . . . and then we’ll hit it with you, right, iAm.”

As the other Shadow nodded once, Xhex felt like punching the aluminum siding she’d been leaning against. “This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Hardly. You’re waiting for Lash to show up here and I know you’re not going to want to just talk to him. So no way we’re leaving you—and don’t bother hitting me with the you’re- not-the-boss-of-me shit. I have selective deafness.” iAm actually spoke up. “He really does.”

Xhex locked eyes on the license plate of that ridiculous Honda, thinking, Oh, for fuck’s sake . . . Then again, if the two Shadows weren’t here, she would have stayed put; just taken the numbers down and stayed right where she was. She could always trace them later.

“Make yourself useful,” she snapped. “And give me your cell phone.”

“You calling in a pizza? I’m hungry.” Trez flipped her his BlackBerry. “I like a lot of meat on mine. My brother prefers the cheese.”