by Joey W. Hill
“Until he pulled the stake and lunged for you,” Gideon pointed out.
“Which you intercepted. With your chest.” Daegan’s dark eyes glinted dangerously. “You acted on instinct. Foolish instinct, I might add. I could have pulled my blade and severed his head if you weren’t in the way.”
“Yeah, because that’s subtle, chopping off heads in a shopping district at ten o’clock at night. Besides which, that was the instinct I was preventing.” Gideon met his gaze. “I didn’t know him well, which was why I didn’t recognize him right off, but Patrick isn’t a bad guy. Most hunters might be adrenaline junkies wanting to be the hero of a Lost Boys sequel, but once they’re in the trenches and see what’s happening, something different takes hold. Vampires have a right to live, I get it, but you can’t blame a guy for acting against what hurts him or his. If I ever get jumped by a cow wanting to beat on my ass for all the burgers I’ve eaten, I’m not going to be casting stones.”
Daegan bit back a sigh, but returned his attention to Anwyn. “The force of the blow knocked Gideon against me and we went down like bowling pins.”
“You could make it sound a whole lot cooler than that.”
“She’d see it in your mind regardless.”
“Even so…”
Anwyn slid to her hip, putting her hand over where the blow had been struck. The residual blood had made the torn T-shirt damp. The stake had gone in beneath the rib cage and pierced major organs. A mortal wound--if he’d been mortal.
“It’s the splinters that piss you off.” Gideon’s lopsided smile, the close way he watched her, told her that she had her mind open to him, which still happened when she was agitated and forgot to shield herself. It was always a conscious effort for her, unlike other vampires for which a shut mind was the automatic default. “The skin heals up and sucks them in. It takes a couple weeks for them to work their way out, and they’ll itch like crap until then.”
“Watch over him.” Daegan touched the top of her hand. I’m going outside to get a better sense of whether or not we need to relocate.
“They won’t be coming after us,” Gideon said, proving he could sometimes read the male vampire, even when Daegan was closed off to him. But then they were both hunters, weren’t they? Their minds often followed the same track. Even now, both of them were focused on protecting her, not themselves, despite how much she wanted to personally rip apart who’d ever done this to her servant.
“Daegan had a hard-on to grab that prize for himself.”
“Stop doing that,” she snapped. “I mean it.”
Gideon’s attention shifted to her immediately, as did Daegan’s, and she fought the desire to scream. “I am not about to have an attack. Unless the overwhelming urge to murder both of you counts. Just…I went to look at shoes. It’s…”
She still wasn’t used to it. Yet it was second nature to them, this constant vigilance against the possibility of assault, death. How many decades would it take her to figure out how to enjoy something as mindless as shoe shopping and remain hypervigilant, and still consider it a fun time?
Daegan’s hands settled on her shoulders. As she shrugged him off irritably, she could sense him and Gideon exchanging a look. When she was in this mood, often Daegan would step back and let Gideon take the lead, since Gideon had the more empathetic perspective. But this situation wasn’t supposed to be about her. She hated that it always came back to her, her state of mind, her reactions.
Daegan squatted behind her, slid an arm across her chest so his forearm rested over her breasts as he gripped her upper arm. His heat and overwhelming power cloaked her as Gideon’s hand moved to rest on her knee, fingers gripping her thigh.
We’re all right, cher. All of us. You are always our focus, because you are our center. Our goddess, our female.
She closed her eyes, feeling the flood of their emotions. They meant it. They weren’t trying to reassure her, and that helped. It was all about that synergy they had as a triangle, the thing that could bring balance, no matter how fucked up all the rest of it was. She’d learned to take her mind out of the equation in moments like that and let that connection bring things back in order. The insidious whispers in the corners of her mind died back like the wind, leaving only the hum of her connection with them.
“If you say I complete you, I will skewer you both with kitchen knives,” she said.
Gideon’s fingers tightened on her leg and she opened her eyes. “I wouldn’t have said ‘our female,’” he said helpfully. “I’m much more progressive than that. I would have said ‘our independent and self-sufficient member of the opposite but entirely equal sex.’”
“I really will stab you,” she said darkly. “And I won’t be sorry. We need to get that shirt off of you. Get you cleaned up.”
“Give me a little time, and I can do that for myself. I don’t need you to baby me, Mistress.”
“If I want to baby you, you’ll lie there and take it.” She looked up at Daegan as he rose. “Do you think they’ll come here to finish the job?”
“No. Going out to check is merely a precaution. I left them feeling sufficiently grateful to have their lives.” Daegan’s gaze shifted to Gideon. “I wouldn’t have killed him, Gideon. I saw all of what you felt about Patrick and the others in your mind.”
“You say that now. I felt your reaction when that stake went in. You were going to go all Kill Bill Volume 2 on them, right there. Wrath of God stuff. He left them basically pissing themselves from the look on his face alone.”
“I would not have killed them. If time had allowed it, I would have hurt them severely, merely for hurting you. You might consider that next time you step in front of an attack meant for me.”
Nothing shut Gideon down like that kind of declaration. Noting their servant’s flustered look softened her considerably, in a way his teasing and even Daegan’s reassurances had not.
Daegan touched her cheek and rose. “I’ll be back shortly.”
She expected his desire to step outside was as much about a need to take a mental breath himself as it was to extend the reach of his senses even further without distraction. After all, he’d been standing within a stride of Gideon when the stake went in. For all the progress Gideon had made, there were times he still didn’t realize his value to them. Or perhaps he did. There was something odd in his gaze as he watched Daegan take his leave of them. The other vampire noted it too, because the two males’ eyes held an extra beat before Daegan pivoted and left the kitchen.
Gideon began to sit up, but she put a hand on his chest, holding him in place. “Stay there. I’m going to get you a fresh shirt, then I’ll clean you up.”
“Anwyn, the wound’s already closed. I’m sure I can get up and handle it at the kitchen sink.”
“If you get up while I’m gone, I’ll put you back down on the ground. And you know you hate it when a girl does that.”
His midnight blue gaze narrowed on her. “Think you’re a badass, do you?”
“You know I am.” She let her lips quirk, inciting a faint smile from him as he settled himself back on his elbows. He did reach up and slide his knuckles along her jaw, though. She sighed. “Sometimes I really do have the urge to stake both of you.”
“Good thing we rock your world daily with awesome sex. Else you might not resist the homicidal urge.”
“Hmm. You’d both best keep that in mind.”
She rose with another warning look—stay—that caused him to “woof” and give her a look more in keeping with his usual smartass demeanor. But she could feel everything he felt and knew he was still in pain, that the wound had taken a great deal out of him. She didn’t waste time finding him a clean shirt and a pair of jeans worn down to a soft fade. When she returned, she saw he’d lain back down fully on the tile. He might claim it was in deference to her desires, but she knew it was more than that. Out of their sight, he’d let himself give into it. The strain of the injury showed in his tense countenance. As she returned, he masked it and
pushed himself back up onto his elbows again.
She put an arm around his back to help him sit up, and then nudged him to lift his arms so she could pull off the T-shirt. The stretch hurt him, and she bit back her reaction, keeping her face carefully expressionless, giving him his pride. But the towel had been soaked by the time the bleeding stopped in the car. The gouged wound was knitting too slowly. That, as well as his paleness under a day’s worth of stubble, told her the truth of it. Their servant needed blood.
She wet a cloth from the kitchen sink and cleaned him up, pushing away his hands and protest about her tending to him. She wanted to get him onto the sofa as soon as possible. He’d be more comfortable there. She wiped away the blood on his firm flesh, her thumb following the track of the terry cloth over muscle and skin, feeling his quiver as she hit both tender and ticklish spots. It didn’t matter how tough he was—as a vampire, she had an enhanced understanding of the uncertainty of life, and knew just how fragile even the most invincible male was.
She changed her mind about having him don the fresh T-shirt. The wound needed the air, and she wanted the direct contact with his skin, to feel the blood coursing under her fingertips. She moved onto her heels and slid her arm around his waist. “Let’s get you on your feet and take those jeans off. You have blood on them, too.”
“I can take off my own pants.”
“Shut up,” she said. “Listen to your Mistress.”
She tweaked that taut wire between them whenever needed, that tether of connection he no longer denied, though it didn’t always rest comfortably with his image of himself. He relented, at least enough to lean against the counter once he was standing. He did slip the button and tug down the zipper himself, pushing the jeans off his hips. With the slimmest of openings, she knew he’d ignore her order and bend to take them off, but she’d already anticipated that. Stepping in close, she put her fingers on the hard ridges of his lower abdomen, holding him there with a severe look as she squatted. Yes, he could deny that aspect of their relationship when he wasn’t comfortable with it, but his discomfort now was from his intuitive sense that it was improper for his Mistress to be kneeling before him. His reaction only increased her own sense of possessiveness toward him, tightening the connection further.
After she removed the jeans, she indulged herself with a brief appraisal. She liked him covered only by the snug boxers that etched out the taut line of his buttocks, the curve of cock and testicles. Even at rest, his genitals presented an intriguing-sized package, nested under stretched cotton. When she’d first met him, he’d often worn saggy and loose cotton boxer shorts. She’d quickly compelled him to wear this style, which was far more pleasing—and revealing—to her gaze. He’d sworn if she ever made him wear a Speedo at a public pool, he’d leave her in an instant.
When push came to shove, she knew he wouldn’t deny her, even if he turned twelve shades of rosy at being so exposed. However, she wouldn’t be testing that challenge anytime soon. She wasn’t always willing to have other women get such an intimate glimpse at what was hers. Not too long ago, she’d had to quell a killing urge when Lady Lyssa had taken his blood, though it had been a vital necessity for the queen’s own health. Only Daegan’s proximity had kept her from committing suicide-by-attack-of-the-queen.
Straightening so she stood in front of him, she slid a hand beneath her hair at the nape. She gathered the thick strands and slid them over her right shoulder, baring the left side of her throat. She could have given him her wrist, but she wanted his mouth in a more intimate place, a place that would allow her to put her arms around him and feel his heart beating against her chest.
His midnight blue gaze tracked the movement. Now he lifted his own hand, threading his fingers through her long tresses on the right side as she came closer. When he bent his head, she tilted her chin, closing her eyes as he teased her throat with his lips. He had the faint aroma of hops on his breath from his after dinner beer. She inhaled the soap he used and the overlay of sweat from the fight. As well as blood from his injury.
She could never get enough of what that mouth could do. As he traced her carotid with his tongue, she put her hand against his neck, sketching the brand she and Daegan had put there, a permanent collar in his flesh, matched by the same type of banding on his wrists. The branded cuffs bore the initials of the two vampires who owned him, the brand around his throat displaying a replica of the three teardrop third mark on his chest. She never tired of touching any of them, proof that he belonged to them entirely.
He gave her the edge of his teeth but not the bite, that piercing of her flesh that was as pleasurable as the coiling anticipation of an orgasm. Instead, he pressed his mouth to the delicate architecture of her throat. She felt like he was aware of every vein coursing with blood, every tingle in her skin, how to accelerate the former and intensify the latter. When he drew back, his hand on her waist, thumb idly caressing her hip bone, his dark blue eyes weren’t so idle.
“Not tonight,” he said. “Tonight I take from him.”
He had taken blood from Daegan before, but the pointed emphasis of the words told her their servant meant something entirely different. “I want to take his blood the way he takes it from me,” he added.
Though Gideon wasn’t an articulate speaker, his mind could be a poet laureate, the way the thoughts and feelings meshed. She saw that he wanted to experience that sense of surrender...from Daegan. Gideon already understood it was a far more conscious and unnatural choice for his Master, but that would make the power of that surrender even sweeter, wouldn’t it?
“I’m taking blood from him. And not just blood. It’s time, Anwyn.”
“Gideon.” In their unique triad, they both knew Daegan was the alpha leader, but that didn’t mean that Gideon ever stayed to heel for long. For that matter, neither did she. When the men in her life went into testosterone overload, she didn’t hesitate to exercise her own alpha tendencies and bite back. They really were a rather unique triangle, though it seemed to work for them. Mostly.
“I know what that tone means.” Gideon tilted his head. “But I won the bet, quite a while ago. I’m not the patient one of this group, you know.”
On the contrary, he was very patient. It was what had made him a deadly vampire hunter--one of the most successful in the history of such employment. Against opponents that outmatched him significantly in strength and speed, he watched and waited, and determined the key time to strike...and win. This wasn’t a randomly chosen moment, though the precipitating event might have been.
Their vacation had been on the calendar for a while. A planned two weeks away from Club Atlantis for her, two weeks during which Daegan had made it clear he wouldn’t be available for any Council assignments, even if the survival of vampire kind hung in the balance. Translation: he would not be available to Council’s capricious wishes.
Lyssa had offered Daegan the use of her secluded cottage in the Keys. Surrounded by lush maritime forest, the cottage had an open air design reminiscent of Hawaiian retreats. Guests could walk out of the spacious living area with its big flat screen TV and fully equipped kitchen onto a screened porch almost as big as the whole interior. The porch included a hot tub, small indoor pool and comfortable sitting area. But in the back wing of the cottage was another attractive amenity, tailored specifically to the recreational interests of Lyssa and her guests. A “play room” for visiting vampires and their servants.
The whole set up was perfect. Away from friends or interruptions, the three of them could immerse themselves in each other. With hours of blissful solitude stretching before them every night, they could explore one another to their hearts’ content, the peaks of pleasure as well as soul deep wells of need. They’d done a little bit of that since they’d arrived a few days ago, but not enough. It would never be enough.
Yes, their hunter had chosen his moment. He’d probably been planning it for some time, concealing the bulk of the strategy in his mind that way that many servants learned, care
fully keeping such thoughts out of the forefront of his mind when he was with the two of them. Now Patrick had given him leverage. That dangerous look on Daegan’s face, how he’d gone out to take a breath as much as to check their security, underscored it. A wooden stake couldn’t kill their third mark servant, but Daegan knew as well as she did that it wouldn’t have mattered to Gideon if it could.
All three of them were protective, territorial, and nothing roused those instincts, and all the emotions attached to them, like an attack on one of them. Her own bloodlust was still too close to the surface, such that with very little thought she’d be back in the car, going to seek out Patrick and his ilk to make them suffer for raising a hand against her boys. No matter how amused the two males would be at being characterized that way, it was how she thought about it.
So the pot was stirred and, typical for Gideon, rather than letting it settle and simmer, he wanted to take it to a full boil. When she tuned back into him, she found he was regarding her steadily. “You have my back?” he asked.
She blinked and stroked a finger over the rough stubble along his jaw. “You need a shave,” she said softly. “Yes, Gideon. I have your back. Always. In this, and everything else.”
His reaction was gratifying to female senses. Despite the recent injury, the hunter in him came to the forefront, shifting his expression, his body language. It caused a similar shift in her own. The Mistress in her pushed away the rest. “Tread carefully, love,” she murmured. “You’re not cornering a housecat.”
“Why do you think I asked you for backup?” He gave her his trademark cocky grin and they held that amused, conspiratorial look as they heard Daegan re-enter the house.
“Nothing,” the vampire confirmed, coming into the kitchen. “We’ll feel it if anyone approaches, but I think it highly unlikely our location has been compromised.”
