"I'm off tonight."
That pierced brow dropped low. "So."
"So... I'm off."
"That's never mattered before."
"It does now."
Qhuinn shifted to the side again and glanced around Blay's head. "You putting on that suit just to impress the home team?"
"No."
There was a long silence and then one word: "Who."
Blay let the door go wide and stepped back into his room. If they were going to get into a thing, no sense doing it out in the corridor for people to see or hear.
"Does that really matter," he said, on a surge of anger.
The door shut. Hard. "Yeah. It does."
As a f**k-you to Qhuinn, Blay undid the sash of the robe and let it fall from his naked body. And he put the slacks on... commando.
"Just a friend."
"Male or female."
"Like I said, does it matter."
Another long pause, during which Blay slipped his shirt on and buttoned it up.
"My cousin," Qhuinn growled. "You're going out with Saxton."
"Maybe." He went over to the bureau and opened his jewelry box.
Inside, cuff links of all kinds gleamed. He chose a set that had rubies in it.
"Is this payback for Layla last night?"
Blay froze with his hand on his cuff. "Jesus Christ."
"It is, right. That's what--"
Blay turned around. "Did it ever occur to you that it has nothing to do with you? That a guy asked me out and I want to go? That this is normal? Or are you so self-involved that you filter everything and everybody through your narcissism."
Qhuinn recoiled ever so slightly. "Saxton is a slut."
"Well, I guess you would know what makes one."
"He's a slut, a very classy, very elegant slut."
"Maybe all I want is some sex." Blay cocked a brow. "It's been a while for me, and those females I did in bars just to keep up with you weren't all that good to begin with. I think it's about time I got some, and in the right way."
The bastard had the gall to pale. He honestly did. And goddamn it if he didn't falter back and lean against the door.
"Where are you going?" he asked roughly.
"He's taking me to Sal's. And then we're going to that cigar bar." Blay did his other cuff up and went over to the dresser for his silk socks. "Afterward... who knows."
A wave of dark spice wafted across the bedroom, and stunned him into silence. Of all the ways he'd thought this conversation would go... his triggering Qhuinn's bonding scent was so not it.
Blay pivoted back around.
After a long, tense moment, he walked toward his best friend, drawn by the fragrance. And as he came closer, Qhuinn's hot eyes tracked him with each step, the link between them, that had been buried on both sides, abruptly exploding into the room.
When they were nose-to-nose, he stopped, his rising chest meeting Qhuinn's. "Say the word," he whispered harshly. "Say the word and I won't go."
Qhuinn's hard hands clapped onto both sides of Blay's throat, the pressure forcing him to tilt his head back and open his mouth so he could breathe. Strong thumbs dug into the joints on either side of his jaw.
Electric moment.
Incendiary potential.
They were going to end up on the bed, Blay thought as he locked his palms on Qhuinn's thick wrists.
"Say the word, Qhuinn. Do it and I'll spend the night with you. We'll go out with Xhex and John and when they're through, we'll come back here. Say it."
The blue-and-green eyes Blay had spent a lifetime looking into locked onto his mouth and Qhuinn's pecs pumped up and down as if he were running.
"Better yet," Blay drawled, "why don't you just kiss me--"
Blay was whipped around and shoved hard against the dresser, the chest of drawers slamming against the wall with a thunder. As cologne bottles rattled and a brush hit the floor, Qhuinn forced his lips down hard on Blay's, his fingers biting into Blay's throat.
It didn't matter, though. Hard and desperate was all he wanted from the guy. And Qhuinn was clearly on board, his tongue shooting out, taking... owning.
With fumbling hands, Blay yanked his shirt out from the slacks and went for his own fly. He'd waited so long for this--
But it was over before it started.
Qhuinn spun away as Blay's pants hit the floor, and the guy positively lunged for the door. With his hand on the knob, he rammed his forehead into the panels once. Twice.
And then in a dead voice, he said, "Go. Enjoy yourself. Just be safe, please, and try not to fall in love with him. He'll break your heart."
Between one blink and the next, Qhuinn left the room, the door closing without a sound.
In the aftermath of the departure, Blay stood where he'd been left, his slacks around his ankles, his fading hard-on an utter embarrassment even though he was all alone. As the world grew wavy and his chest constricted into a fist, he blinked fast and tried to keep the tears off his cheeks.
Like an old male, he bent down slowly and pulled up the waistband of the pants, his hands fumbling with the zipper and fastenings. Without tucking his shirt in, he went over and sat on the bed.
When his phone rang over on the nightstand, he turned and looked toward the screen. On some level, he expected it to be Qhuinn, but that was the last person he wanted to talk to and he let whoever it was go to voice mail.
For some reason, he thought of the hour he'd spent in his bathroom fussing over his shave and clipping his nails and arranging his hair with the goddamn gel. Then the time in front of the closet. It all seemed wasted now.
He felt stained. Utterly stained.
And he wasn't going out with Saxton or anybody tonight. Not with the mood he was in. No reason to subject some innocent guy to the toxicity.
God...
Damn.
When he felt like he could talk, he stretched over to the side table and picked up his phone. Flipping the thing open, he saw that it was Saxton who'd called.
Maybe to cancel? And wouldn't that be a relief. Getting shut down twice in one night was hardly good news, but it would save him from having to beg off from the male.
Firing up voice mail, Blay propped his forehead on his palm and stared down at his bare feet.
"Good evening, Blaylock. I imagine that you are, at this very moment, standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear." Saxton's smooth, deep voice was a curious balm, so soothing and low. "Well, indeed, I am before mine own clothes.... I believe I shall be going with a suit and vest coat in a gamine houndstooth. I think pinstripes would be a good accompaniment on your part." There was a pause and a laugh. "Not that I would tell you what to wear, of course. But do call if you're on the fence. About your wardrobe, of course." Another pause and then a serious tone. "I'm looking forward to seeing you. Bye."
Blay took the phone away from his ear and hovered his thumb over the delete option. On impulse he saved the message.
After a long, steady inhale, he forced himself to his feet. Even though his hands were shaking, he tucked in his fine shirt and went back to the now messy dresser.
He picked up the cologne bottles, righting them once again, and retrieved the brush from the floor. Then he opened up the sock drawer... and took out what he needed.
To finish getting dressed.
Chapter Thirty-five
Darius was due to meet his young protege after the sun was well set, but before he headed over to the human mansion they'd spied upon through the trees, he materialized in the woods afore the Brotherhood's cave.
With the Brothers scattered thither and yon, communication could be delayed and a system had been set up for the exchange of notations and announcements. All came here once a night to see what had been left for the others or to leave missives of their own.
After ensuring that there were no eyes upon him, he ducked into the dark enclave, went through the secret rock wall, and made his way through the series of gates toward the sanctum sanctorum . The "communication system" was nothing but an alcove set in the rock wall, into which correspondence could be placed, and because of its simplicity, it was far down the way.
He didn't make it far enough to see if his brothers had anything to say to him, however.
Coming up to the final gate, he saw upon the stone floor that which at first glance appeared to be a pile of clothing folded up next to a rough sack.
As he unsheathed his black dagger, a dark head rose from the heap.
"Tohr?" Darius lowered his weapon.
"Aye." The boy turned over on his ragged bed. "Good evening, sire."