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“For all we know, he slipped you some never-heard-of party drug that…makes you crave blood and get all horny or…fuck, I don’t know.” Blake stopped at Cass’s pitiful look, rubbing at his shoulder in some semblance of reassurance. “He’ll have answers, won’t he?”

“Maybe…”

The truth was Cass didn’t want Blake anywhere near the creep from last night.

But Blake was looking so hopeful that they’d find some sort of solution.

And he still wasn’t running, was he? He was staying by Cass’s side.

So Cass pulled on his metaphorical big-boy pants and stood up, straightening his button-down. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

They pulled up to the hotel some twenty minutes later, walking into the lobby like they both belonged there.

No one tried to stop them or ask for a room key, so Cass headed straight for the elevators, pressing what he was 90 percent sure was the right button.

He didn’t tell Blake that while he remembered which floor he’d been on, he didn’t remember the room number itself.

It was just… He could sort of track the guy’s scent? And that felt too weird to admit out loud.

Maybe-Arthur hadn’t smelled good in the way Blake did, but it had still been distinctive—kind of metallic, even. A scent Cass was learning to associate with blood.

When he found what he hoped was the right room, he paused in spite of himself, and Blake ended up knocking on the door for him, more forcefully than Cass would have. And then he stood real close, right next to Cass, with his arms crossed like some kind of club bouncer.

He was trying to be intimidating. Succeeding, really, as far as Cass was concerned, given his muscular frame and impressive height. It was protective. Sweet, even. He’d been nothing but sweet since the moment Cass had barged into the room, practically accosting him with the force of his horniness.

It honestly made Cass want to throw his head back and groan.

Because why did Blake have to be so sweet all the time?

If the world worked the way it was supposed to, he should have been, like, some absent-mindedly cruel jock type.

That would have been easy enough to ignore, no matter how good-looking he was.

But how the hell was Cass going to get over this crush now, when he knew the husky groan Blake let out when he came, the way his eyes grew hot and heavy with lust when he was turned on?

And he had been turned on. By Cass, against all odds. so maybe he wasn’t 100 percent, all-the-way, for-sure straight. Maybe there was a little wiggle room where Cass could slip in and be held and called “baby” in that soft way.

Maybe—

The hotel door opened, and there was the man from last night, smirking at Cass like he’d been expecting him.

“You came back. I knew you woul—” He seemed to finally notice that Cass had a shadow, doing a little a double take at Blake’s impressive glare before smirking again. “And you brought a snack for us.”

Blake puffed up noticeably. “Listen, pal—” Cass tried to suppress a snort.

It wasn’t the time, but he’d never heard Blake say anything so cliché in their entire time together, and it was honestly a little hilarious.

“We want answers,” Blake continued, undeterred.

“What the hell did you do to my friend last night?”

“The infamous Blake, I presume.” The bar creep looked him over slowly, not seeming a bit intimidated, even though Blake had multiple inches and some number of pounds on him.

Jesus. Had Cass really talked about him that much in his tipsy state? He could feel his face heating as Blake shot him a surprised glance before turning his full ire back to the room’s inhabitant. “We could have you arrested, you know.”

Maybe-Arthur—and Cass really wished he had gotten the guy’s actual name— sighed heavily, like they were putting him out beyond belief. “All right. Come in. Let’s get the interrogation over with. But it’ll have to be quick.”

It looked like they had come just in time, because the man’s bag was on the bed, looking close to completely packed. Had he been about to run out? Or had he been waiting for Cass to come back first?

Blake wasted no time. “What did you do to Cass?

“I fed from him, then I turned him,” Maybe-Arthur said, shrugging a casual shoulder like his answer was completely obvious.

Cass fought the urge to roll his eyes. Great clarification, Maybe-Arthur.

Blake made a frustrated sound. “Turned him…how?”

“With my blood.” It might have been Cass’s imagination, but Maybe-Arthur seemed almost amused at Blake’s confusion. Was he just toying with them?

“Into what ?” Blake asked, patience clearly wearing thin.

Maybe-Arthur cocked a brow. “Why, a vampire, of course. What else? I’m assuming he’s already fed from you? You have that look about you.”

“That’s—but—vampires aren’t real .”

“I assure you, they are.”

The two of them had a staring standoff then, Maybe-Arthur still looking sardonically amused and Blake looking like maybe he was going to start throwing fists and asking questions later.

Cass had a feeling they weren’t going to get very far with the two of them at each other’s throats—especially if one of them came with a pair of unnaturally sharp teeth—so he inserted himself between them.

“Can you tell me why you turned me?” he asked.

“Oh.” Maybe-Arthur shrugged, his coy smile dropping. “Well, you were so sad. And awfully cute. I’m afraid I was a little impulsive. It seemed like a good idea at the time. You and I could have had a bit of fun.” He shot an annoyed glance at Blake. “But it seems you already have your tether.”

“My tether,” Cass repeated.

“Yes. Lucky you.”

“What’s a tether?” Blake asked, sounding put out to be left out of the conversation.

“Yes, Arthur, what’s a tether?”

Maybe-Arthur looked at Cass blankly. “Arthur?”

“Is that…not your name?”

“This whole time you thought my name was Arthur ?” Definitely-Not-Arthur looked properly upset for the first time in that entire interaction, but then he huffed a sigh.

“Look, as adorable as your newbie vamp cluelessness is, I’m afraid I simply don’t have the time,” he said, stepping briefly into the bathroom and returning with pilfered toiletries he stuffed into his bag.

It was a surprisingly mundane act for someone claiming to be undead.

“I was mistaken. This isn’t free territory, which means I need to go. And you’d be wise to do the same.”

He grabbed his packed bag, moving to step out of the room. Blake—foolish, loyal Blake—stepped in front of him, probably hoping to block him, but then Not-Arthur’s face changed, just like Cass’s had: his eyes turned black, his fangs dropped, and he did a weird…growl thing.

Could Cass growl now?

Blake stepped back, clearly thrown by the change, and Not-Arthur took advantage of his shock and fled the room, faster than should have been possible.

And then there were two.

“So… I’m a vampire,” Cass said brightly, trying to smile in some sort of carefree, reassuring way. He was pretty sure he just looked constipated.

Blake frowned at him. “We’re not going to take that creep’s word on it.”

So they were still going the denial route. Cass sighed, fake smile dropping. “Oh yeah? Then what, Blake?”

“We’re taking you to the hospital.”

“Jesus.” Cass rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m gonna end up in the psych ward.”

But then Blake was there, hugging him tight, rubbing his hand up and down Cass’s spine in reassurance. “Not if you show them. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I promise. I’ve got your back.”

And how could Cass argue with that?