Then he leaned down. "You gonna let me give you another?"
"Yes, please. . . " she breathed.
He kissed her longer this time, lingering on her lower lip, even clipping it gently with one of his fangs. At the contact, heat exploded between them, especially as he pulled her up against his body, holding her harder than he should given how many weapons were hanging off his torso.
Before he took her standing up, he
forced himself to put her back on the bed. "Thank you," he whispered.
"What ever for?"
All he could do was shrug because so much of his gratitude was too complicated to give voice to. "I guess for not trying to change me. "
"Never," she said. "Now be safe. "
"I will. "
Out in the hall, he closed the door quietly and took a deep breath. . . .
"You all right, my brother?"
He shook himself and glanced over at Z. The male was likewise dressed for fighting, but he was coming down the hall from the opposite direction of his suite.
"Ah, yeah, sure. Yourself?"
"I was sent to get you. "
Right. Got it. And he was glad it was Z. Undoubtedly the guy was well aware of his fucked-up mood, but unlike some of the others - *cough*Rhage*cough* - he would never pry.
Together, they walked down the hall and entered the king's study, arriving just as V said, "I don't like this. The one vampire who's fucked us off for months suddenly calls from out of the blue and says he's ready to see you?"
Assail, Tohr thought, while he settled against the bookshelves.
As his brothers muttered different variations on the not-so-hot theme, he put his game head on and agreed completely. Too much of a coincidence -
From behind the great desk, Wrath's expression went stone-cold, and just the look on that face quieted the room: He was going, with or without the rest of them.
"Fucking hell," Rhage bitched. "You can't be serious. "
Cursing under his breath, Tohr figured he might as well cut past the argument stage: given the thrust of Wrath's jaw, the brothers were going to lose in any contest of will. "You are wearing a Kevlar vest," he told the king.
Wrath bared his fangs. "When have I not. "
"Just needed to be clear on that. What time do you want to leave?"
"Now. "
Vishous lit up a hand-rolled and blew out smoke. "Fucking hell is right. "
Wrath stood up, grasped George's halter, and came around from the throne. "I want just a regular squadron of four. We go there with too many guns and it's going to look like we're nervous. Tohr, V, John, and Qhuinn are going to be on first string. "
Made sense. Rhage with his beast was too much of a wild card. Z and Phury were technically off rotation tonight. Butch needed to be on standby with the Escalade. And Rehv wasn't in the room, which meant his day job of being king of the symphaths had taken him up north again.
Oh, and Payne? Given what she looked like, she was liable to fritz Assail's circuits out, rendering him too stupid to speak. Like her twin, she tended to make a big impression on the opposite sex.
Everyone would just be a text away, however, and Wrath was right: They brought the whole fan-damn-ily and that was going to send the wrong message.
As everybody filed out and hit the grand staircase, there were all kinds of under-the-breath grousing, and at the bottom, weapons were rechecked and holsters tightened an extra notch.