He began to close in on the man, tracking him silently as a shadow, shortening the distance until he was a mere five feet from the bastard. The knife had found its way into Veck's palm, and he really didn't want it there, but it was too late to resheathe. Too late to derail. Too late to listen to the voice that told him this was a crime that was going to land him in jail. The other side of him had taken over and he was lost to it, on the verge of killing -
The third man came from out of nowhere.
A mammoth man dressed in leather jumped into the killer's path, blocking his way. And as David Kroner leaped back in alarm, a hiss seethed through the air.
God, that didn't even sound human. And ... were those ... fangs?
What the f**k - ?
The attack was so brutal that with just the first strike at the serial killer's neck, the guy's head nearly came off. And it kept going from there, blood flying so far and wide that it speckled Veck's heavy black pants and turtleneck and hat.
Except there was no knife or dagger involved.
Teeth. The motherfucker was ripping shit apart with his teeth.
Veck tried to scramble back, but he slammed into a tree, and the impact sent him careening to the ground waaaay closer than he needed to be. And he should have run for his bike, or just plain run away, but he was transfixed by the violence ... and the conviction that whatever he was watching was most certainly not human.
When it was over, the monster dropped the massacred remains of the serial killer to the ground ... and then it looked at Veck.
"Holy ... f**k ..." Veck breathed.
The face had a very humanlike bone structure, but the fangs were all wrong and so was the size and that vengeful stare. God, blood was actually dripping from its mouth.
"Look into my eyes," an accented voice said.
A gurgling sound rose up from what was left of the serial killer. But Veck didn't glance over. He was transfixed by a stunning set of peepers ... so very blue ... glowing....
"Shit ..." he choked out, a sudden headache cutting out everything he saw or heard. Collapsing sideways, he went fetal from the pain and stayed there.
Blink.
Why was he on the ground?
Blink.
He smelled blood. But why?
Blink. Blink.
With a groan, he lifted his head and - "Shit!"
Leaping to his feet in shock, he stared down at the bloody mess that was in front of him.
"Oh ... f**k," he cursed. He'd done it. He'd finally killed someone -
Except then he looked at the knife in his fist. No blood: Not on the blade. Not on his hands. And only specks on his clothes.
Looking around, he had no clue what had just rolled out. He remembered driving here ... and parking his motorcycle ... and tracking the man who was now dying on the ground.
If he was brutally honest with himself, he'd had the intent to kill. All along. But going by the physical evidence? It hadn't been him.
The problem was, all he had was a black hole of no info.
A moan from the serial killer snapped his head to the right. The man was reaching for him. Mutely asking for help as he leaked all over the place. How was he still alive?
With shaking hands, Veck grabbed his cell phone and dialed 911. "Yeah, Detective DelVecchio, CPD Homicide. I need an ambulance out at the Monroe Motel & Suites now."
After the report was logged and the medics were on their way, he yanked off his jacket, wadded it up into a ball, and knelt down by the man. Pressing his coat into the guy's throat wounds, he prayed the f**ker survived. And then had to wonder whether that was a good thing or not.
"I didn't kill you," he said. "Did I?"
Oh, God ... what the hell had happened here?
Chapter Fifty-eight
"He came to see you."
From Blaylock's vantage point on the bed, Saxton son of Tyme was showing him his very best side. Which, no, was not his ass. The male was shaving in the mirror in the bathroom, and his perfect profile was bathed in the soft overhead light.
God, he was a beautiful male.
On so many levels, this lover he had taken on was everything he could want.
"Who," Blay said softly.
The eyes that shifted over to meet his were all about the oh-puhlease.
"Oh." To dodge any further conversation, Blay looked down at the duvet that was pulled up to his bare chest. He was naked under the satin weight. As Saxton had been until he'd put his robe on.
"He wanted to know if you were okay," Sax continued.
Since oh had already been used as a reply, Blay spiced it up with, "Really."
"It was out on the terrace. He didn't want to come in and disturb us."
Funny, when he'd been on the verge of passing out after his stomach had been stitched up, he'd dimly wondered what Saxton had been doing out there. But he'd been in so much pain at the time, it had been hard to think too much about anything.
Now, though, he felt a terrible thrill go through him.
Praise the Scribe Virgin, it had been a while since he'd had this old familiar tingle - although the time lapse didn't diminish the sensation. And the rush that followed to ask what had been said was nothing he could act on. It was disrespectful to Saxton, for one thing. And it was pointless, for another.
Good thing he had plenty of ammunition to shut himself up with: All he had to do was think of Qhuinn coming home a week or so ago, his hair a mess, his scent clouded by some man's cologne, his swagger all about the satisfaction he'd grabbed on the run.
The idea that Blay had thrown himself at the male not once, but twice - and gotten shut down? He just couldn't bear to think of it.
"You don't want to know what he said?" Saxton murmured as he drew the sharp blade up his throat, skillfully avoiding the bite mark Blay had given him a half hour ago.
Blay closed his eyes and wondered if he was ever going to get away from the reality that Qhuinn would f**k anyone and anything except him.
"No?" Saxton asked.
As the bed moved, Blay popped his lids. Saxton had come over to sit on the edge of the mattress, the male blotting his jaw and cheeks with a bloodred towel.
"No?" he repeated.
"May I ask you something?" Blay said. "And now would not be a good time to be your charming, sarcastic self."
Instantly, Saxton's stunning face grew grave. "Ask away."
Blay smoothed the duvet over his chest. A couple of times. "Do I ... please you."
From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saxton recoil and just about died of embarrassment.
"You mean in bed?" Sax demanded.
Blay flattened his lips out as he nodded, and he thought maybe he might explain a little more, but as it turned out, his mouth was dry.
"Why would you ask that in a million years?" Saxton said softly.
Well, because there had to be something wrong with him.
Blay shook his head. "I don't know."
Saxton folded the towel and put it aside. Then he stretched an arm over Blay's hips and leaned up until they were face-to-face.
"Yes." With that, he put his mouth to Blay's throat and sucked. "Always."
Blay ran his hand across the male's nape, finding the soft, curling hair at the base of his neck. "Thank God."
The familiarity of the body poised over his was nothing he'd ever had before, and it felt right. It felt good. He knew every curve and corner of Saxton's chest and hips and thighs. He knew the pressure points and the places to bite, knew exactly how to grip and roll and arch so that Saxton would come hard.
So, yes, he probably shouldn't have had to ask.
Qhuinn, though ... anything about that male unpeeled him and left him raw. And for all he had learned to bandage himself up on the outside, the wound remained just as bad and deep as the moment it had been made - when it became obvious that the one male he wanted above all others was never, ever going to be with him.
Saxton eased back. "Qhuinn can't handle what he feels about you."
Blay laughed harshly. "Let's not talk about him."
"Why not?" Saxton reached out and ran his thumb back and forth over Blay's lower lip. "He's here with us whether we do or we don't."
Blay thought about lying and then gave up the fight. "I'm sorry about that."
"It's all right - I know what I'm in." Saxton's free hand sneaked under the duvet. "And I know what I want."
Blay groaned as that palm rubbed against what immediately became a thick erection. And as his hips lifted and he spread his legs for Saxton, he met the eyes of his lover and sucked that thumb into his mouth.
This was so much better than getting on the Qhuinn roller coaster - this he knew and he liked. He was safe here. He didn't get hurt here.