She was going to stay with him, he feared. Haunting him as sure as any ghost. . .
Too soon it was over, and he was retracting his canines from her fragrant flesh. He licked once, twice, stroking at her with his tongue -
"Okay, that's enough. " Phury gathered her up from the chair, smiling at her with true warmth. "You go find Qhuinn now - you're going to need some strength. "
This was true, Throe thought with a stab of guilt. Indeed, she looked pale and seemed slightly woozy. Then again, she had fed him twice in as many hours.
He wished his name was Qhuinn.
Phury escorted her to the door and sent her off with kind words in the Old Language. And then he turned back. . . and made sure that the lock was in place.
The fist came flying at him from the side, and given his brief impression of black leather, it was clearly the Brother Vishous's.
And the resulting crack was so loud it was as if a log had been snapped in half.
Then again, he'd always had a sturdy jaw.
As cathedral bells rang in Throe's head and he spit out blood, Vishous said grimly, "That is for looking at her like you were fucking her in your mind. "
Across the room, the Brother Phury likewise curled up a fist and started smacking it into the open palm of his free hand. As he approached, he said in a nasty tone, "And this is to make sure you don't follow up on that bright idea. "
Throe smiled at them both. The more they beat him. . . the more likely he would have to feed again.
They were right, too: He did want to be with her - although "making love" was a far better term.
And those moments with her were so worth whatever they gave him. . . .
Up at the mansion, Tohr sat on the bottom step of the grand stairwell, his elbows on his bent knees, his chin on a fist, his cell phone faceup next to him.
His ass was numb.
In fact, after having sat where he had for the last - how long? five hours? - he was probably going to have to get Doc Jane to surgically remove the carpet fibers from his caboose -
The security check-in station let out a beep, and he burst up, striding over to the panel, double-checking the screen, releasing the door lock.
Lassiter came in alone, likely because Doc Jane had returned to the Pit. And the angel was naked as a jaybird. . . and just frickin' fine. No bullet holes, no scars, no contusions.
"You keep looking at me like that and
you'd better buy me dinner afterward. "
Tohr glared at the angel. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Lassiter shook his finger. "You, of all people, do not need to ask me that. Not about last night. "
On that note - and utterly unconcerned about the nakey - Lassiter sauntered into the billiards room and headed for the bar. The good news was that at least when he was behind the thing pouring liquor, his longshoreman and those two buoys were not in full view.
"Scotch? Gin? Bourbon?" the angel asked. "I'm having an Orgasm. "
Tohr rubbed his face. "Can you never say that word around me when you're buck-ass nekkid?"
That set off a round of, "Orgaaaaasmmm, orgaaaaasmmm, orgaaaasmmm," to the tune of Beethoven's Fifth. Fortunately, the fruity bullshit the fucker put into his glass cut the chorus off as he swallowed it on a oner.
"Ahhhhh. . . " The angel smiled. "Think I'll have another. Care for one? Or did you have enough this afternoon. "
A quick mental picture of No'One's breast in his hand made his cock hop all over that plan. "Lassiter, I know what you did. "
"Outside? Yeah, the sun and I get along. Best doctor there is - and no copay. Woo-hoo. "