Page 65

Eric

D anny’s house—a little yellow number close to the hospital—was fitting for what Eric knew of him: cute, comfortable, and welcoming.

Danny had greeted Eric like an old friend and then sat him down in the living room with a beer while he, as he put it, “helped Roman fuss.” (Although, from the brief glimpse Eric had had of the guy—movie star good looks, strikingly bright, cold blue eyes—Eric couldn’t really picture Roman “fussing” over much of anything, but whatever.)

Wolfe had abandoned him.

At least for dinner. He’d claimed Eric would have better luck bonding with the crew if he wasn’t glued to the side of a psychopath, making everybody nervous, and then when Eric had been poised to protest, he’d claimed he needed to feed anyway and would join them later for dessert.

Which, okay, that should be a good thing, right? Eric was finally in a physical and emotional state where he could tolerate some space, and now here he was, getting that space. All it had taken was approximately ten thousand orgasms over the course of one night.

And great. Now his brain was replaying images of clever fingers and a wickedly talented tongue.

Eric shifted on the couch, trying not to get a boner before dinner.

Although, to be honest, it had been more than just the physical part that had left him so wrung out the night before.

The mate bond was really something else; that was for sure.

Eric had been able to feel how turned on Wolfe had been, tasting him.

Coupled with that fierce possessiveness Wolfe was always carrying around for him like some eternal flame?

Beyond potent, to the point of completely overwhelming him.

The truth was, if Wolfe had asked to fuck him, Eric would’ve let him in a heartbeat.

Which, big whoop, he supposed; it wasn’t like he was exactly virginal.

He’d just never bottomed before. He’d somehow always thought that was for pretty, twinky guys.

Eric wasn’t pretty, and he wasn’t anywhere in the realm of twinky, yet Wolfe seemed very interested in getting all up in there.

He sipped his beer thoughtfully, casually adjusting himself in his jeans.

Lots to consider, really. He should probably also be considering that at some point he would be joining Wolfe on a hunt or whatever.

That was what he should be most concerned about, right?

Drinking blood straight from the source like some third-rate Dracula?

But it was hard to focus on it when the beast inside him was so unbelievably chill, other than the soft yearning that seemed to perpetually exist now—that ache for Wolfe to always be closer than he was.

Supposedly—according to Danny—Eric would start getting really hungry again in the next few days. Then maybe he’d come to better terms with his new as-yet-unexplored bloodlust.

The sound of the front door slamming open had Eric choking on his next sip of beer.

“All right, everyone, the party has arrived!”

The voice was familiar. King’s boyfriend (or partner, or mate, or whatever). Soren. Why hadn’t Eric realized he’d be part of the family dinner?

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it before the man—or vampire, apparently—himself strode into the living room two seconds later, King a half step behind.

Soren spotted Eric immediately. “So this is why Danny insisted on moving family dinner up by three days,” he drawled.

Speaking of pretty twinks. Except that crazed grin Soren often had on his face always did ruin the effect a little. The same grin he was sporting now, his artfully coiffed blond head cocked to the side as he stared at Eric, one eyebrow arched, as if expecting some sort of reaction.

Was he hoping for Eric to blush or something? They’d had one brief encounter, one that had left Eric with blue balls and a fuzzy head, and—

Eric paused, beer poised at his lips. Wait.

He tried his best to hold on to the moment as he’d remembered it—hurriedly making out in an alleyway, some fumbled groping—but something else started to take its place.

A memory of a sharp pain, then unbearable pleasure. But no kissing. Definitely no fondling.

He straightened up with a start. “Hey!” He pointed an accusing finger at the blond. “You bit me!”

Soren’s grin only grew wider. “There it is. I was wondering, now that you’ve turned.”

“Oh, thank God,” Gabe groaned, wrapping a broad arm around his mate’s waist. “Now we can stop pretending the two of you hooked up. It was skeeving me out.”

Soren waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, we all know. You’re all macho and jealous, et cetera, et cetera.”

Eric was having trouble getting his mouth to close properly. “You fed from me.”

Soren tossed his head with a huff. “And?”

“And—” Eric sagged back into the couch. “Um…well, I don’t know.”

Soren shrugged. “Okay, well while you consider how pissed you want to be at me, I’m going to raid Roman’s wine cellar.” He pointed to Gabe as he turned out of his hold. “You stay here and babysit the newbie.”

He flounced off, his heeled boots clacking on the hardwood floors. Eric sat, stunned, while Gabe disappeared for a minute of his own before reappearing with a beer in hand, settling himself into the armchair across from Eric.

Eric raised his bottle half-heartedly. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

“Your boyfriend bit me.”

Gabe shrugged his muscular shoulders. “Technically he’s my fiancé. And, well—” He pointed his beer bottle at Eric. “ Your boyfriend drained you completely.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Eric said, mostly just to be a dick. But it also definitely didn’t seem like the right word. It wasn’t intense enough for whatever Wolfe was. He was just…more.

They sat in silence for a minute, both sipping at their beers. For all that they were colleagues, and Eric had always hoped they could be friends, Gabe had never seemed to like him much. Maybe because Eric had not so subtly hit on him when they’d been starting out together.

Or maybe Eric just wasn’t good enough to be friends with the golden boy of Hyde Park.

But Gabe seemed…calmer here, outside the hospital.

A little less hostile. Or maybe it was having Soren in his life.

He’d always been charming, seemingly without even trying that hard, but there had been something heavier roiling underneath before the unhinged blond had started appearing at his side all over town.

Was that what mates did? Helped someone be their better self? Eric couldn’t imagine Wolfe helping him be a better anything. Except…

Just because you’ve been stunted until now doesn’t mean you need to remain stunted.

Eric let the silence go on for another minute before he asked the question he’d decided Gabe might have some insight into. “So have you ever bottomed before?”

“Excuse me?” Gabe shot him a savage look, but Eric was used to those expressions from him, so he just took another sip of his beer.

“It’s just, Soren seems kind of ‘take charge.’ Bossy. Does he top you?”

Gabe let out a heavy sigh. “You know you can’t just ask me stuff like that. Jesus.”

“Oh. Sure, sure.” Because they weren’t really friends, and everyone was only being nice to him because he’d been turned and kidnapped by someone they were all maybe afraid of.

Eric grimaced, freshly aware that stuff like this was probably the reason Gabe hated him.

“Sorry. I’m just kind of in new territory with Wolfe, thought maybe you’d… ”

Gabe let him roil in embarrassment for another long moment before he huffed, running a hand through his hair.

“I can’t believe you’re paired with that psychopath.

” He seemed to debate with himself for a minute before giving in.

“Okay, so… Soren’s more like a ‘topping from the bottom’ kind of guy.

Yeah, he’s bossy, but he also likes to get dicked down. Like, really likes it.”

Eric nodded thoughtfully, but it was cut off by Soren’s screech, sounding like it was coming from the kitchen. “Gabe fucking Christ Kingman, you did not just tell him all that.”

He appeared a moment later, glass of red wine in hand, gesticulating so wildly it was a wonder it didn’t splash everywhere. “Definitely no orgasms for you tonight, Highness.”

Gabe rose from his chair, contrition all over his face. “No, baby, but we’re hunting tonight.”

“Tough.”

Gabe wrapped himself around his mate, murmuring so softly that even with his enhanced hearing, Eric could only catch every other word. A lot of baby and brat being thrown around.

Eventually Soren softened in his hold. “Fine,” he mumbled into Gabe’s chest. “But only because I need it. You can come, but you can’t enjoy it.”

Eric kept his silence, a little worried one or both of them were going to remember he’d started this weird almost fight and turn on him.

But they just settled into the armchair together, Soren on Gabe’s lap.

It made Eric think of his intense urge to sit on Wolfe’s lap.

With Soren, it looked so natural. Would it look silly, with Eric?

Soren raised his glass at Eric. “Condolences for your mating bond.”

Eric frowned. “It’s not so bad.”

“If he ever tries to make you do something you don’t want to do…”

“Oh no, nothing like that.” Eric blinked, surprised by the protective words. And then, because his mouth was running away from him no matter what he did, “He’s a great lay so far.”

Gabe snorted, raising his beer to his lips. “Not my type.”

“Why not?” Eric tilted his chin at Soren. “You clearly like them scary.”

Soren grinned back at him, pleased.

“Yeah,” Gabe conceded, rubbing his chin onto his mate’s hair. “But also beautiful.”

“Wolfe is beautiful.” Or at least, striking. And at this point, for Eric, it was kind of the same thing.

Gabe laughed. “Christ, the bond works quickly, huh? If I were you, I’d be pissed at Wolfe for at least—”

“An entire year of avoidance?” Soren cut in, a pointed lilt to his voice.