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 . . . fuck,” 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 fucker 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?
FIFTY-EIGHT
“ Be 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.