Rise to Submit [Rise of the Changelings, Book 4] (Siren Publishing Epic Romance, ManLove) (14 page)

“No crying,” Benito repeated as he kissed Miguel on the cheek and then yelped, jumping up as his cousin chased him down with a look that said Benito was going to pay for the stolen affection.

“Try the strawberries.” Mason pointed to Ian’s plate with his fork. “They’re fresh.” He knew Ian wasn’t hungry, but Mason wasn’t about to let the man wither away to nothing. He already looked like he was just one step away as it were.

He thought about the kiss they’d shared, and Mason could feel himself getting hard. He knew he shouldn’t have kissed the man. Ian wasn’t in the right frame of mind to have anything with Mason, let alone a relationship.

But he just couldn’t bring himself to regret what they had shared. Although he knew he needed to tread carefully where Ian was concerned.

“I’m full,” Ian complained as he pushed the food around on his plate with his fork.

Mason decided to fall back on their friendship. It would be a lot easier for Ian to deal with than complicated emotions. “Dude, you ate like three bites of your eggs. Eat the fruit.”

Mason could hear a small grunt in the back of Ian’s throat, but the man picked up the strawberry and popped it into his mouth.

Pressing his back into the dresser, Mason settled his plate onto his lap. “So, tell me,” Mason began and saw Ian visibly stiffen, “what kind of things do you like to get into?”

Ian relaxed.

“You thought I was about to ask about the club.” Mason called Ian on his assumption. “Don’t worry. Unless you’re willing to talk, I’m not going to badger you.”

Ian grabbed another strawberry and shoved it into his mouth. Mason was determined to get the man to eat everything on his plate. The guy chewed and then pushed the fruit around. “I used to draw a lot. My teachers said I had real talent.”

“Really?” Mason chided him. “I can draw a mean stick figure, but if you ask me to sketch something, it would probably turn out to look like a child’s drawing. Hmm,”—Mason paused—“I think a child’s drawing might even trump mine.”

A small smile tilted at Ian’s lips. “I’m pretty good at faces. I’ve been told I can capture what the person is feeling in my drawings.”

Mason screwed his face up, crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue. “Can you capture this?”

Ian laughed.

Mason’s heart melted. The man had no idea how truly stunning he was when he smiled. The cobalt burst into rays of spectacular sparkles, and his face seemed even more handsome.

“Dork. What about you? What do you like getting into?” Ian plucked another strawberry into his mouth and ate it, pleasing Mason to no end.

“Cars,” Mason replied. “I love working on them. My father thought it was a waste of time. He said a mechanic was better suited for the job.” Mason shrugged. “I disagreed. There was just something about getting under the hood or crawling underneath the body that calmed me. I wanted to go to school to learn how to take a car apart and put it back together, but my father…” Mason trailed off, feeling the anger rising inside of him.

“What did he want you to do?”

“Deny who I was and take over the company someday.” There was no way in hell Mason could sit in the high tower of Sellers Pharmaceuticals and attend board meetings all day. It wasn’t him. He wasn’t lying to Ian about his love of cars. Mason had always wanted to get into a restoration project, but his father wouldn’t hear of it. It pissed him off that the man was the way he was.

And of course, he hadn’t got past the fact that the man had tried to blow him up. He wasn’t sure he ever would. Just how did a guy go about getting over the fact that his father wanted him dead?

“What company?” Ian asked, forking some eggs and shoveling them into his mouth. Taking Ian’s mind off of his problems seemed to be the key to getting the guy to relax. Mason would keep that in mind. But he could see the dark circles under the man’s eyes. He knew Ian couldn’t stay awake forever and prayed someone answered their call about a dream walker.

“Sellers Pharmaceuticals.”

Ian frowned. “I’ve heard that name before.”

Mason nodded as he polished his food off and set the plate aside. “They are a pretty big company.”

“No.” Ian shook his head. “I’ve heard that name mentioned…you know.”

Mason gave a noise of disgust. “I wouldn’t put it past my father to make shady-ass deals to ensure his company thrived. He tried to blow up the college I attended…while I was still there.”

Ian gaped at Mason. “Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t deny who I was. Even when the hate groups had come after our pack and killed two females, my father still wouldn’t come to their defense. He fears being outed as a changeling and losing his mass fortune and company.” Mason was determined to bring his father down. The man was scum, and Mason was going to be there when his father lost it all.

“He killed his competitor’s son,” Mason continued. “His brilliant plan was that if he made it look like changelings blew up the college, then the father who owned Dyson Pharmaceuticals would be so distraught about losing his only son that he would sink all of his resources into funding the Breed Hunters. My father knew Jacob Dyson would avenge his son’s death. But his plan was that eventually Jacob would go broke, leaving Sellers Pharmaceuticals as the leading pharmaceutical company in the nation. Talk about an uncaring bastard.”

“But you didn’t die.”

“No, and that pisses my father off. He hates to fail. I still have Breed Hunters looking for me to finish my father’s job. They have no clue why he wants me dead, but enough money will make any person turn a blind eye.”

Mason glanced down to see Ian’s plate was clean. “So, what else do you like to do?” He had to get away from that morose subject before he not only revved himself up, but made Ian depressed.

Ian shrugged. “I never really got into anything but drawing. I wasn’t one of those guys who had friends to hang around. I liked being by myself most of the time. It was better for me.”

“Because no one understood you?” Damn, Mason was trying to steer away from touchy subjects, but it seemed they were determined to be discussed.

“Pretty much,” Ian replied. “Not because I was gay. That never came up when I was in school. I just—”

“Dude, it’s cool. So you checked out the jocks in school?” Mason teased.

Ian blushed. “They were hot.”

“I always liked the geeks. There was something about the pencils sticking out of their pocket protectors and the tape around their glasses that always gave me a boner.”

Ian gaped at him.

Mason laughed. “Just kidding. Come on, let’s take these dishes downstairs.” Mason stood and then glanced down at Ian. “Though you might want to put on the clothes Omar brought you.”

Seeing Ian naked shouldn’t have affected Mason. He was a changeling, used to nudity, but he was affected all right. If he was going to help Ian get through all of this, then the man need to cover his jewels.

Ian set his plate aside and crawled over to Mason. Hell if he had ever seen anything that erotic before. Mason wasn’t sure what to say or do as Ian settled on his knees, placing his hands on his thighs, and lowering his head.

“Ian.”

He could see how badly the man was shaking. Mason reached out and tucked a finger under the man’s chin, lifting Ian’s head. “Friends, not master.”

Ian nodded, but Mason could see the need eating away at the fragile human in front of him. He smoothed his hand over Ian’s cheek, wondering if he could really have something with this man.

Ian scooted closer, his eyes fluttering closed as he nuzzled the palm of Mason’s hand.

How in the hell was he supposed to combat his desire against something as sensuous as this? Mason was a strong male, but even he had his breaking point.

His eyes lowered and Mason could see that Ian was half hard. His jaw clenched as he fought against taking the man. Ian wasn’t ready. He was riddled with scars and was battling a vampire in his dreams. Mason did the hardest thing in his life. “Get dressed, Ian.”

Ian opened his eyes and nodded. He stood and grabbed the lounge pants Omar had left for him and slid them on. He could tell Ian wasn’t used to wearing clothes because he pulled at the pants every few seconds as they walked downstairs.

“Good,” Rick said as the two walked into the kitchen. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

Mason glanced at Ian.

“Sasha is on the back porch. He’ll be fine,” Rick said as he walked from the room, Mason following.

* * * *

Ian placed the plates in the sink and then turned, seeing Dorian standing by the table, his hands shoved into his front pockets. Their eyes locked and all of a sudden there wasn’t enough air in the room. Ian felt trapped, like he was being scrutinized as Dorian’s eyes studied him closely, intently.

He was a junkie.

He was perverted.

He was worthless.

All of those feelings came to the forefront, so Ian countered them and protected himself by taking the first verbal shot. “What, are you trying to figure out how to start your sanctimonious speech?” Ian might deserve the lecture of a lifetime, but Dorian was not about to stand there and judge him. Dorian hated drug users. He never hid that fact. Ian had heard the man say they were a waste of air, or some shit like that.

But even if he couldn’t quote his brother word-perfect, he knew how the man felt. Dorian was probably chomping at the bit to dress Ian down.

He was just glad as hell his parents weren’t here. Ian could go toe to toe with Dorian. But his parents? Not a chance in hell. One look from his dad and Ian would feel like he had let the most important person in the world down.

He had.

But Ian wasn’t going to think about that right now. He had enough bullshit to worry about other than hearing his brother talk down to him or think about what a loser son he was.

Like how he was going to stay awake forever and why he was having such a strong attraction to Mason.

“No.” Dorian shook his head as he pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest. Fuck if Dorian didn’t look like their father in that moment. Ian had to mentally remind himself that it wasn’t his father, but his older brother. “I’m just trying to figure you out, Ian. I can’t understand how I missed your depravities when we both lived at home.”

Ian glanced away, feeling the shame wash over him like an arctic wave. The warmth he had gained from his conversation with Mason was gone, replaced by a chill of reality that was so profound, it was bone deep.

“My heart goes out to you, Ian.”

Ian balled his fists at his sides, glaring daggers at Dorian as he turned to look at the arrogant bastard. He spoke in an even, deceptively calm tone, his jaw set. “Your heart?” he scoffed. “Fuck your heart, you selfish bastard. This is my life, my sanity, and my very future we’re talking about. If I have to choose between my physical recovery and your heart, you’re screwed.” He finished his statement in a heated shout, his outrage in his very tone. He had tried to stay calm. But it seemed the longer he talked, the angrier he became.

“That’s not what I meant!” Dorian shot back heatedly.

“I know what you meant,” Ian replied with piss-poor sarcasm, keeping the hurt out of his tone. “Poor Ian, the junkie. He was such a good boy growing up. I’ll never understand where he went so wrong,” Ian finished with mockery of what he assumed Dorian was feeling. “Fuck you, Dorian.”

“You know,” Dorian said as he moved closer, his eyes narrowing, his look filled with anger. Ian had never before seen such anguish and indignation toward him from Dorian. “I hated drug addicts until my brother became one, and then I tried to understand. I really did. I began to research it, looking up whatever I could so I could better relate to what you were going through. I learned a lot, and my opinion has changed, but how in the
fuck
can I ever understand your need to be beaten?”

Ian shoved at Dorian, knocking him into the counter. He had to stop himself from raising a fist to his brother. Everything that Newman had done to him had built up in a hair’s breadth of a second, almost making Ian want to tear at Dorian to stop the pain. “You think I like to get beaten?” He shouted the question into Dorian’s face, spittle flying. “You think I like those monsters touching me?”

“What the fuck have you shown me, Ian? You just up and disappear one day, and then I find you in a BDSM club. The vampire that runs the joint tells me you come there regularly to get beaten up and get high!” Dorian slammed his fists into the counter behind him, and Ian could see the worry and horror in the man’s brown eyes. “Then when I shoot a fucking vampire repeatedly to get you out of there, you take off again! And where do you go, right back to that damn club. So tell me, Ian. What in the hell am I supposed to think?”

Ian slapped his hand into Dorian’s chest, wanting to hurt Dorian, wanting to hug Dorian, and just wanting his brother back. “You could have asked me!”

“When?” Dorian shouted just as loudly. “When could I have asked you? I couldn’t find you to ask you. You call me a selfish bastard, but you’re the one who was hiding in a club and getting high while Mom, Dad, and I worried our heads off about you.”