Zsadist refocused on the taillights as the BMW’s brakes were hit and then a turn signal—to the left, which was the correct way to go—started to blink.
“Whatever,” Z said under his breath. “Haven’t we got enough to worry about right now?”
“You think Nalla is never going out into the world on her own?”
“No,” Z announced as Manny disembarked with his Little Black Doctor Duffle of poke-and-tickle toys. “That will never, ever happen.”
As Qhuinn started to chuckle, and Manny began to rapid-fire questions of the how-are-we variety, Z decided that the night was going to get a job-satisfaction rating of zero.
Maybe less than zero.
Then again, it could have been worse. Given his history, you’d think he’d remember exactly how creative destiny could get with the bad news.
Blay ran down the underground tunnel toward the Brotherhood’s training center, the clapping sound of his leather-soled loafers like a round of applause for his haul-ass. Inside his skin, he was screaming. On the outside, his rigid composure was his armor, the thing he was going into a battle with, and his rational mind was his ammunition, his primary line of defense.
Too bad fate wasn’t the kind of thing you could actually fight against.
When he came up to the locked door to the facility, he punched in a code and ripped through a supply closet kitted out with all kinds of OfficeMax. Out the other side, he scrambled by the desk, and from habit, smacked the Fuck No! button next to the computer.
As the tinny voice expressed what he was feeling, he punched through a glass door and jogged down the concrete corridor. Doc Jane’s medical area, which had been constructed and outfitted as an engagement present by V, was state of the art. Thank God. With its fully stocked examination rooms, ORs, and patient rooms, it was the best place an injured vampire could be.
Like, for example, if one had been stabbed in the gut.
Going by the scents, Blay knew exactly where his mate was, and when he came up to the exam room, he wanted to throw his body through the closed door. He forced himself to slow that roll. The last thing he needed was for his panic to cause a golf-sprinkler bleed—
The door in front of him opened and Manny Manello, Doc Jane’s clinical partner and Payne’s human hellren, jumped back. “Oh, good, you’re here.”
“Last rites?” Blay choked out.
Manny stepped aside as he took off his white coat. “No, awake and asking for you.”
Blay’s knees went weak as he peered around the surgeon and got a load of his one true love.
“Oh . . . God,” he said. “What happened to you?”
Qhuinn was propped up on a gurney, his mismatched eyes bright and alert, his color good, his mouth pursed with mild annoyance . . . like maybe he’d picked the wrong tollbooth on the turnpike or a bad lane at the supermarket check-out. His shirt had been taken off—no, wait, cut off, given the two shredded halves on the tile floor—and for a split second, Blay’s libido responded with a hey-there-big-boy.
Then again, all that muscle and smooth skin was distracting—
Yeah, except for THAT FUCKING KNIFE protruding at a right angle to the chip-your-toothworthy six-pack.
Blay reached out blindly as his balance went wonky.
Manny caught his arm. “You okay there?”
“Fine,” he mumbled. “I’m just—”
“Ehlena, hand me the ammonia—”
“Whatsthatfor—” Blay’s vision went checkerboard.
All of a sudden, something that was the nostril equivalent of a sucker punch brought him back to attention. As his eyeballs came online, he got a close-up of Manny’s big hand and a cracked-open pill.
“Hit me with that again,” Blay stammered.
Annnnnnnnd whfff.
He stood straight up. “That’s magic.”
“Glad to be of service,” Manny said as he ditched the sinus slapper.
Over on the patient bed, Qhuinn held out his arms. “I’m waiting for a proper hello.”
Blay rushed across and dropped his mouth to his mate’s. The feel of soft, warm lips made his legs go unreliable again.
“What happened?” he repeated. “And how do you get that out?”
“I suggested I could just give it a pull,” Qhuinn muttered, “but I got shot down.”
Manny propped open the door with his hip. “Yeah, I mean, just because you have half a dozen critical structures and veins in that area, what the hell. Give it a yank. In a non-sterile environment with no backup. Suuuuuurrrrrre. What medical school did you go to?”
Qhuinn flipped the guy the bird.
The surgeon returned the favor. “And Blay, to answer your question, I am going to remove it in the OR. Ehlena’s prepping everything. Jane’s going to assist. We’re ten minutes out.”
“Why is he not bleeding to death?” Blay stared down at his mate. “Why are you not passing out from blood loss?”
“Do you want me to?” Qhuinn winked. “You could totally have your way with me then, you know.”
“You let me have my way with you anyhow.”
“This is true. On that note, how’s now sound?”
“I think he’s going to be fine,” Manny said dryly. “But we need to make sure the removal is done carefully and in a place where if something goes wrong, I can fix it. Now if you boys will excuse me, I’m going to scrub up.”
As the human left, Qhuinn reached for the front of Blay’s shirt and grabbed on in desperation.
“Should I call him back in?” Blay took that hand and cradled it between his own. “Do you need—”
“You’re looking good tonight—”
“What?”
The hand in his returned to the shirt—and released the top button. “You just look so good. And you smell nice. And I want to touch you . . .”
As Qhuinn licked his lips, those blue and green eyes started to twinkle in that way they did when things were taking a turn into naked territory.
“Qhuinn.”
“Yes?”
Blay pointed to the knife. “You’re not getting horny with that sticking into you.”
“You don’t think so? ’Cuz I’m pretty sure you’re wrong about that. And mmmm, sticking things into people.”
As the male started to roll his hips, Blay glanced down the bed. Sure enough, behind the fly of those leathers, a thick erection had sprung up out of nowhere—
A hissing noise preceded an abrupt halt of the grind, and as Blay refocused on his mate’s face, Qhuinn lost that lovin’ feeling: Gone was the sexual speculation. In its place was all kinds of well-shit-that-hurt.
Blay kept his I-told-you-so’s to himself. “Just rest, okay?”
“We have ten minutes.”
“Well, eight now.”
“It’s a shame to waste them.” Qhuinn turned his head on the thin white pillow and stared at the center of Blay’s pelvis like there was a bull’s-eye hanging off his Hermès belt. “Besides, I have something that’s working just fine.”
“Your brain is not it.”
Qhuinn deliberately licked his lips again and then bit down on his pierced lower one with his fangs. Next up on the roster was some kind of pleading sound in the back of his throat, and his final player on the field was his tongue. Which really wasn’t fair. That ball piercing made an extended appearance, the steel catching a glimmer in the light of the exam room as it flicked back and forth—