7. Lane
SEVEN
LANE
After showering as an excuse to hide in the bathroom, Lane made himself face Rowan.
He wasn’t ashamed of his reaction downstairs. There wasn’t anything manly in suppressing emotion or pretending he was a hardass in the face of violence. But this was another in a long line of vulnerabilities he’d rather not have shared. If only he could stop feeling so wrong-footed around Rowan.
Lane left the bathroom and found him leaning casually against the wall.
He glanced up from his phone. “How do you feel?”
Lane might have read into the careful lack of judgment in Rowan’s tone if he didn’t always sound so unaffected.
“Better… Shaken,” Lane amended in the spirit of not hiding feelings in order to seem macho. Was that why Rowan kept himself locked down? Lane hoped not.
“That’s understandable.” Rowan tucked his phone into his pocket and pushed off the wall. “I’m sorry for putting you in that situation. I should have remembered you haven’t been exposed to centuries of violence.”
“Centuries? I mean—thanks. I suppose it gets easier if you see it all the time.”
“Not in a good way.” Rowan turned as serious as stone. “It’s probably wrong to be unaffected. What, if not apathy, leads vampires to set ferals on killing sprees?”
“I won’t argue with you there. So… These are intended killing sprees, not accidents?”
“It seems so. Why else would the culprit convince their creations I’ve sired them?”
True. Lane didn’t see how a mistaken sire could be accidental.
“I didn’t think it was possible to fool a vampire about who sired them.
” Wouldn’t they remember who turned them?
Vampire hypnosis didn’t work on other vampires, only humans and witches, so it wasn’t like they could fall victim to false memories once they turned.
Rowan hesitated so long it seemed he wouldn’t answer. Unsurprising, since vampires were tight-lipped on the subject of siring more of their kind. Lane wouldn’t have gone near the subject if the feral vampire hadn’t come up. It wasn’t as if he were interested in becoming an immortal.
At last, Rowan said carefully, “Misinformation can be imbedded during the transformation process.”
Yikes. “That sounds problematic.” For reasons far beyond tricking a feral vampire into thinking they belonged to Rowan. Did all sires have that power? What other kind of misinformation might they spread? They were questions Lane didn’t dare ask. “Do you have any idea who’s doing this?”
“No.” Rowan gestured to the old-fashioned chair, which had been by his bed and now sat near the bathroom door.
“I had some spellbooks delivered so you can read about parasitic curses. I’m going to shower.
If you’re done with the bathroom?” His brow quirked, and he pressed his lips together like he was trying not to smile.
Was he teasing Lane for hiding?
His face heated. “I’m done.”
The feral vampire subject was clearly closed, so Lane gathered the books and settled in while Rowan disappeared behind the closed door.
It was a pleasant surprise after the way Rowan had sneered at his offer to help.
Okay, Rowan hadn’t sneered, but he’d implied that not wasting his time mattered more than Lane making use of his, and probably wasn’t wrong.
It still hurt.
Lane had little confidence in his ability to free himself from this curse. His talents lay in creating portable spells, little tricks and conveniences, not countering powerful curses. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. He wasn’t as useless as everyone seemed to think he was.
In the years he’d lived away from his coven, he’d run a successful business with his best friend Gale, making and selling portable spells like silence bubbles and magic lanterns that could be activated by anyone, witch or not. Lane didn’t see his talent helping here.
After reading a handful of dense pages, the bathroom door opened. Steam rolled into the room like a thick fog, and Rowan emerged, graceful as a phantom. He wore a towel wrapped tight around his waist, his skin glistening with stray water droplets.
All thoughts of counterspells fled.
Lane returned his gaze to the book in a hurry. In his periphery, he caught sight of a closet door opening, and Rowan disappeared inside.
Lane was on his feet in a split second. “Where are you going?”
Rowan reappeared in the doorway. “Walk-in closet.”
Lane crossed the room in a few strides and settled at a spindly table, his heart pounding.
“Sorry.” Rowan’s frown took on a severe edge. “I was lost in my thoughts, but I wouldn’t have been far enough to activate the curse.”
“Fine, but if we aren’t in the same room, I should be outside the door.” It’s what they’d done with the bathroom.
“You’re right. I’ll be more careful.” Rowan’s neutral gaze dragged heavily over Lane. “We should exchange blood soon. There’s no need to wait until the last minute and let our link falter.”
Lane swallowed. “Sure.”
Rowan hovered in the doorway. His hair was dry, pulled into a bun on the top of his head. He looked much closer to the man Lane had approached years ago, lounging carefree at that party, than the stern coven leader he’d been following around all day.
Lane wanted to run his hands over Rowan’s pecs, and feel his chest hair tickle his face as he chased the path with his lips.
Pull it together. He doesn’t need to think you’re seducing him again.
Rowan disappeared into the closet, presumably to dress out of sight, and Lane did his best to read. The page before him might as well have been blank.
When Rowan re-emerged, Lane managed not to look, as if his presence meant nothing. As if he didn’t want to see what Rowan wore now. How the clothes hugged all his beautiful, hidden skin. Hopefully, he pulled off indifference.
Rowan settled into the chair across from him. “Anything helpful?”
Lane closed the book. “I’m out of my depth.”
“There’s no shame in admitting it. Who knows, your unfamiliar eye might catch something Nicole doesn’t. I’d like to meet with her this evening for an update. You two can discuss the finer points then.”
“Sure.” Lane’s fingers curled around the book. It didn’t feel like Rowan was being patronizing. He sounded encouraging, which was weird. Lane wasn’t used to encouragement in the face of his shortcomings.
“Are you up for a blood exchange?” Rowan asked.
Now? Lane glanced at Rowan’s mouth, as if he expected fangs to cut the flat line of his lips. “We shouldn’t wait too long.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
Damn him. “I’m up for it.” Lane met Rowan’s stare with all the defiance he could muster, then admitted, “I’ve never done this before. Not counting last night.”
Rowan’s lips twitched. Was he trying not to smile? Lanes’s stomach flipped, which was so not helping.
“There’s no need for nerves,” Rowan said, almost softly. “It won’t hurt more than giving blood.”
Yeah, pain wasn’t what had Lane worried. Vampire bites were supposed to be erotic. Orgasm inducing. Better than sex if the vampire was powerful enough.
That fateful party had been an orgy. A biting and sex party.
When vampires fed on live donors, it was most often sexual.
And exchanging blood? Vampires rarely gave during feeding, unless they were with longtime lovers.
Obviously, last night had been an emergency, and vampires donated blood to save people when they could, but what they were talking about now felt distinctly different.
“How, uh, will we do this?” Lane’s voice was too soft, and he cleared his throat.
Rowan’s brow creased. “I don’t have to bite you. We can call Hunter back to the building and have him draw blood. I should have asked before he left.”
Lane wasn’t sure if he was disappointed the doctor had gone or perversely grateful a bite was the more practical choice. He found himself saying, “There’s no need to bother him if he’s gone.”
Rowan gave a curt nod. “I’m sure he’d appreciate being undisturbed in his lab. He isn’t here every day, but if there’s a next time, we can get his assistance. Would you like to drink from a glass?” His gaze flicked to a set of tumblers and several decanters on an old-timey drink cart.
Lane’s stomach turned, erotic thoughts shriveling to nothing. “Not after earlier. I’m not usually squeamish, but if I have to watch blood fill a cup…” He shuddered, glad his stomach was empty.
“It’s easier for non-vampires to drink from the vein,” Rowan agreed, his voice lower than before, and nowhere near neutral.
Now who was getting distracted by what they were about to do? Lane’s pride soaked up the small ego boost like a flower in the sun. Rowan wasn’t as unaffected as he acted.
Lane wished this were happening under very different circumstances. Ones where they trusted each other. Liked each other. In a world where he knew why Rowan’s tone had shifted and what he was thinking.
He forced the longing away.
Rowan stood and gestured for Lane to follow suit. “I won’t influence your feelings through the bite,” he said, voice unmistakably low now, even if his posture was all business.
Lane rose from his chair, his posture stiff. “Holding back is possible?”
“Of course.” He sounded matter-of-fact, but too throaty to be indifferent. “I didn’t intend to arouse you last night. You’d have felt nothing but the discomfort of giving blood if you’d been awake.”
Lane’s face heated. Fuck, you’d think he was a blushing virgin. He wasn’t, and he’d soured on the idea of vampire sex after Rowan’s rejection and the following mess. He should remember that now. This was nothing but a necessity.
Rowan hadn’t put on a suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves with deft movements, exposing strong forearms. “Would you like to give or drink first?”
“Drink,” Lane said quickly. Imagining Rowan’s blood in his mouth twisted his stomach. With any luck, the strangeness would kill his growing interest in Rowan drinking from him and all the fun side effects he was missing out on.
“Very well.” Rowan took a step closer, heat seeming to radiate off him. His eyes glowed as they locked on Lane’s, and he bared his teeth, his canines elongating.