She wanted to snap off a quick retort, make light of this, but her heart was thumping too hard and her nerves trembling. Wrapping her own arm around Janvier’s waist, she held on to the solid strength of him, tucking her head against his neck. Her breath came in jerky bursts, her hand clenching on his T-shirt as he murmured things she couldn’t hear through the roar in her ears, but that she knew would make it seem they were indulging in a public display of affection. Sickening but normal.
Her vision eventually cleared to the point that she could see Louis watching them, a smile wreathing his face. The other man was several feet away, where Janvier must’ve been before he moved to intercept her. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and Janvier’s scent filled her lungs: primal, earthy male.
Her chest shuddering, she rubbed her nose against his neck in a moment of weakness before raising her head. “Merci.”
He brushed back a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid to curl against the side of her face. “No thanks between us, Ashwini. No balance sheet.”
The things he said. The things he meant.
Releasing her grip on the cotton of his tee, she slid her hand into his hair, tugged down his head, and kissed him soft and sweet and with every ounce of the heartbreaking emotion inside her. It lasted for a fleeting fragment of time and it changed the world.
22
Janvier was the one who trembled this time, his arm firming to hold her tight. “Why that vampire?” he asked, voice hoarse.
“He’s done horrible things.” The hairs stood up on her arms at the memory. “I can’t tell if it’s in the present or an echo of his past, but we need to check him out.”
“His name is Khalil, and I know he has darker appetites.” A hard edge to his tone. “I’ll put a discreet watch on him. For now, he appears occupied with a blonde barely into her womanhood, so we may go and speak to Louis.”
The two of them closed the distance to the bouncer.
“Sorry for the wait.” Janvier’s insouciant smile invited the other man to laugh and he did.
“Some things take priority. Especially when the priority is so very beautiful.”
“I like you, Louis.” Ashwini tried to keep her tone playful, despite the fact that she felt scraped raw on the inside.
“If you ever decide against this no-good swamp rat, you know where you can find me.” Louis slid his eyes a whisper to the right. “Brown sugar in the sequined green mini-jumpsuit thing, blonde fantasy twins, and the built guy shaved to within an inch of his life. Regular donors here. Tight foursome. High chance they would’ve crossed paths with your girl.”
Ashwini covertly checked out the group, caught them giving Janvier a greedy appraisal. Unsurprising. He might not be dressed in leather or lace or velvet, nor have the honed beauty of the oldest vampires, but Janvier was six feet three inches of pure indulgent sex. He wasn’t even trying to project that at this instant—his sexual attractiveness was innate, created by his confidence, the lithe strength of his body, the lazy smile that said he knew every sin and had invented a few new ones.
“Janvier,” she said, stepping away from him, the loss of contact bruising, “we’re about to have a fight. I’ll be storming off with Louis.”
A raised eyebrow. “Will it be a passionate fight?”
“I could slap you, but I think I’ll settle for calling you a cheating bastard after Louis lets slip the news of your philandering ways.”
Sighing, Janvier said, “All four?”
“They think you’re delicious.” She tried not to find his less than enthusiastic expression adorable and failed. “I’m the impediment.”
“Rescue me in fifteen?”
“We’ll see.”
Louis obligingly said something right then, and she turned on Janvier. “I can’t believe you did that!” She shoved at his chest, the warm muscle beneath flexing under her touch. “You cheating piece of vampire slime! I hate you!”
“Bébé.” Janvier spread his arms, voice cajoling. “It was nothing, a taste onl—”
“That’s it!” She inserted an infuriated high-drama scream in lieu of throwing a drink in his face. “We’re done! Go taste someone else, you bastard!”
• • •
Janvier watched Ashwini stride away, her hips moving provocatively beneath the snug fit of her jeans. “Take care of her,” he said quietly to his friend. “She is my eternity, Louis.”
“As you pointed out, she can take care of herself,” the other man replied, “but I’ll keep an eye on her in case she needs backup.” Grabbing Ash’s jacket after Janvier slid his eyes to it, Louis went after her.
Turning to the bar, Janvier found the barkeep giving him a sympathetic look. “Women,” the younger male said with a shrug. “She was seriously hot, though. The dangerous kind of hot.”
Yes, his Ashblade was dangerous.
The dark-haired woman sidling over to him, her body clad in a sparkly green jumpsuit that ended barely south of her ass, was a mewling kitten in comparison.
Pretending not to see her, he nursed his drink. It was a single-malt whiskey, a good one, the flavor rich and textured.
It stood no chance against the intoxicating wildness that was the taste of his hunter.
Her kiss earlier had staggered him, enslaved him. He wasn’t surprised at his body’s response—he’d known for a long time that Ash owned him and always would. He just had to convince her to claim him, brand him. A public kiss? Hell, yes, he’d take that as a first step.