"I can think of at least one more," somebody said under their breath.
>
As Phury motioned her to come to the bedside, Throe could only stare up into her face, his heart struggling to decide whether to pound or stop altogether. And whilst he imagined what she could possibly taste like, he tried not to lick his lips - for surely that would fall under the prohibited-activities list. He also sternly reminded his sex to stay flaccid or lose its two stupid best mates.
"I am not worthy," he said softly to her.
"Damn fucking straight," someone growled.
The Chosen frowned over her shoulder. "Oh, but surely he is. Anyone who wields a dagger with honor against the lessers is worthy. " She looked down at him again. "Sire, may I serve you now?"
Oh. . . damn.
Her words went straight to his cock: Right up the shaft, which thickened instantly, to the tip, which promptly stung with need.
Throe closed his eyes and prayed for strength. And bad aim for the Brothers. Neither of which would likely be granted -
Her wrist was close to his lips - he could smell it.
Eyes flaring open, he saw her fragile vein within striking distance - and, merciful Virgin Scribe save him, all he could think about was reaching out to her, caressing her smooth cheek -
A black blade forced his arm back down. "No touching," Phury said darkly.
Well. . . at least if that was all the Brother was worried about, obviously he had not caught on to the issue below the waist. And short of agreeing to have himself neutered, Throe would do anything to have this happen - so no touching was good.
No touching was fine with him. . . .
As Tohr lay in his bed, he came awake with the thought it was a little early to be sleeping. Shouldn't he be out fighting? Why was he -
"Get Layla in here stat," a male voice barked. "We can't operate until his blood pressure is up - "
Say what? Tohr wondered. Whose blood pressure was bad. . . ?
"She'll be there ASAP," came a far-off response.
Were they talking about him? Nah, they couldn't be -
As he popped opened his eyes, the industrial chandelier hanging right over his face cleared things up fast. This wasn't his bedroom; this was the clinic in the training center. And they were talking about him.
Everything came back in a flash. Him stepping out from behind that Dumpster. His body getting drilled as he walked forward, opening fire. Him shooting until he stood over the slumped, stinking form of that slayer.
After that, he'd wobbled back and forth, like a stick only partially drilled into the ground.
Then it had been lights out.
With a groan, he went to push himself up, but his palm slipped on the padding of the gurney. Guess he was leaking -
Manello's handsome puss popped into his line of vision, replacing the bright-and-shiny of the light fixture. Wow - check out that expression. The bastard looked like someone had just gotten him tickets to Disneyland. Surprise!
"You shouldn't be conscious. "
"That bad, huh. "
"Maybe a little worse. No offense, but what the fuck were you thinking?" The good surgeon pivoted and jogged to the door, shoving his head out into the corridor. "We need Layla in here! Now!"
At that, there was some conversation, but he couldn't track any of it, and not because he was injured. In spite of all the owie-owie, his body had a huge opinion about who he was going to feed from - and as far as it was concerned, as lovely as the Chosen was, it was not going to be her.
And it was a shock to realize why.