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Chapter 9

Malcolm

M alcolm had lost his entire mind.

That was the only possible explanation for what he did when he saw the monster open the door to the room. The speech about how the shark-man didn’t much care about whether Malcolm was alive or dead sped through his mind, and he knew they couldn’t stand around and chat.

There was no negotiating with a monster who thought killing you might just be part of his job, and not even an altogether unpleasant part.

But Malcolm didn’t have a lot of time to think it through, or he suspected—hoped—his brain would have put survival first.

Instead, he grabbed the siren and shoved him out the window first, toppling after him as an explosion rocked his head and a searing pain shot through his leg. He barely choked back a scream at the feeling of the bullet passing through his leg, but they didn’t have time for that. They had to get away.

The monster had not been exaggerating. He hadn’t hesitated to shoot at them, and if he had another chance, Malcolm doubted he’d get away with being shot in the leg.

He looked up and found . . . trees.

What the hell?

Okay, no. No time to be horrified that they were in the gross, dirty woods. He needed to be sharp. Clear. Get away and hide from the lunatic with the gun.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees, and his leg almost gave out from under him.

Fuck.

The siren, meanwhile, had rolled over and leapt up so fast Malcolm wondered if maybe he was a martial artist and the dive out the window had been wasted on him. It was maybe the nicest thing he’d done in his life, and he had no idea why he’d done it, so if the siren—Kostas—hadn’t needed his help, that was going to be super annoying.

He’d gotten shot, for fuck’s sake!

He shoved up, harder this time, forcing his leg to bear his weight. He grunted involuntarily, and oh so attractively, at the pain, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. The siren didn’t want him anyway.

Why had he even come?

“God dammit!” came the shout from the house, followed by the shark-man shouting orders for the others to go outside and retrieve them. Well, Malcolm. “And shoot the other motherfucker. I am so fucking sick of this job.”

Malcolm’s gaze shot up to the siren. The siren, who was coming toward him again. The shout had been loud enough to wake the dead, so he had to have heard it. Why wasn’t he taking one look at Malcolm’s bloody leg and running off, abandoning him to his fate?

Hell, why was he there at all?

Yes, he’d seen the kidnapping, but he hadn’t done anything. No one ever did anything. Not for Malcolm. Not without being paid or promised something. Maybe he’d decided he wanted to fuck an incubus after all?

Except, if that, why not go find Elrith? He’d have been more than happy to take the stunning siren to his bed, and then there wouldn’t have been the whole “rescuing the helpless ingenue” part of the seduction, and?—

The sting in his cheek was a shock, and it took him a moment to realize the siren had slapped him. He leaned in and hissed, “I’m sorry, but I need you here with me. Focus!”

His teeth were so sharp and pointy, and for some reason, it was cute.

Maybe because Malcolm had been shot, and he was fucking delirious. Maybe because Kostas was still there. He’d heard the man say to kill him, and he was still there, trying to save Malcolm from his own inattention.

So Malcolm swallowed down the hysterical laughter that threatened to bubble up, and nodded to him.

And then, when the siren—when Kostas—held out a steadying arm, for the first time in his adult life, Malcolm leaned on someone.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, since the assholes who wanted to sell him were rushing around in the house, and they needed to lose themselves in the trees before they made it outside to hunt them down.

The next... ten minutes? Hour? Eternity? Whatever amount of time it was, they spent it zigzagging their way through the trees, waiting and hiding and trying to catch their breaths, and then changing directions and running some more.

Well, running was a generous way to put it, because as much as being an incubus helped Malcolm perform feats no human could manage, he was still trying to run on a leg with a fucking hole in it.

It had mostly stopped bleeding, so it wasn’t leaving an obvious trail for the kidnappers to follow, but it ached horribly, and with every step he took, it protested harder and harder, eventually giving out beneath him when he tried to take a step, and suddenly Malcolm was on the ground, on his ass, and it seemed unlikely he’d be getting up anytime soon.

Kostas sighed and sat down next to him, tugging them both into the hollow of a large tree before pulling his phone out of his pocket. Something acerbic about calling for help before the ridiculous rescue attempt was on the tip of Malcolm’s tongue, but... the man had put his life in danger to rescue Malcolm.

Malcolm fucking McKittack.

No one else in the world would have done that, not even some people’s favorite fictional superheroes with hearts of gold.

Besides, Kostas looked at the screen and sighed, then tucked it back away. “No bars,” he explained when Malcolm stared at him in confusion. “No connection, so we won’t be getting help that way.”

Malcolm gave a deep sigh and slumped back against the tree, staring at the hole in his leg. In his nicest slacks, too. He wanted to be pleased the shot had come out the other side and there was no bullet rattling around in his leg, but mostly, that just meant his favorite slacks had two holes in them, not just one.

Wait.

He slid his hand into his own pocket, expecting to find nothing, but coming immediately into contact with his own phone. What the hell kind of kidnappers left their kidnapee’s phone on him?

The kind who didn’t expect anyone to care if he disappeared.

Also, Malcolm’s phone seemed to have a connection, but when he tried to send a message, it just gave him an error. Great. The finest phone money could buy, and it couldn’t even make a call.

He turned to Kostas. “Did you follow them out here? Do you have a car?”

Kostas shook his head, then nodded. “I didn’t follow them, I tracked your phone. Not working?” Malcolm shook his head, and after a sigh, Kostas motioned in a seemingly random direction. “My car is over there, but I’m not sure your leg can handle it.”

Malcolm scowled and let his claws out, digging them into the tree behind himself and using them to force his body up. “If your car is over there, let’s go.”

Kostas seemed dubious—or maybe it was just worried, and Malcolm wasn’t used to such soft emotions sent his way—but he could do it. He’d never relied on anyone else to carry him before, and he wasn’t going to start now.

Okay, maybe he would lean on Kostas a little. Just a touch.

Kostas grunted with his weight, but didn’t falter, and marched them in the direction he’d waved, so he did seem to have some idea where he was going. “How did you get my number?” Malcolm asked, trying to get his mind off the pain, and frankly, wondering. Kostas hadn’t been interested in giving his number up, so how had that happened?

Kostas made a face that had Malcolm sniffing the air for dead fish or nearby dog shit, but no, that was just his reaction to... to what?

“Elrith. Or really, his doorman, who actually seemed to give a damn about something other than himself.” He clasped his lip between his sharp little teeth after he said it, wincing and glancing nervously over at Malcolm. “I mean, I’m sure Elrith?—”

“Is a self-involved ass, and I’d have been shocked if he had cared,” Malcolm answered. He’d known that. It was one of Malcolm McKittack’s Facts of Life. Mothers weren’t all loving, everyone would take advantage of you given the opportunity, and Elrith was a selfish ass who cared more about getting off than any three of his kids.

Still, knowing that he hadn’t cared as much as the doorman stung a bit. Malcolm didn’t even remember the doorman’s name. Maybe he should learn it, since apparently the man gave more of a damn than his own father.

Kostas drew up short, pulling Malcolm against him as he stopped. There was barely a breath between them, and their bodies were pressed together from shoulder to knee. Kostas was so warm—almost hot—and his breath ghosted over Malcolm’s cheek, a bare whisper that made his skin tingle with want.

Gods, he needed to get off. He needed Kostas to get off. Preferably all over him.

His breath shortened into soft pants, but he tried not to let it show, how much he wanted . He doubted Kostas would agree, or be interested in letting Malcolm slide his jeans down and jerk his cock until he came all over Malcolm’s?—

Yes, fine, they were in mortal peril, but he was an incubus, fuck you very much. He needed sex like he needed to breathe, and the only thing that was going to heal his leg was a good fuck or ten.

And Kostas looked like he had a few good fucks in him, what with his strong arms, that preternatural grace, his sharp, classical features and thick teal hair.

Kostas sighed and hung his head, and for a moment, Malcolm worried about the ability of sirens to read minds. They... they couldn’t, right?

Then he spoke, a frustrated whisper. “One of them is hanging out next to my car. He’s on the phone with another right now, saying he’s going to wait for us to come back to the car.”

Oh. That might actually be worse than reading Malcolm’s mind and not wanting to fuck him. That was their way out, cut off yet again.