Chapter Nine
Marcus
John takes off like someone lit a fire under him and leaves me staring at the door. So much for my half-assed attempt at seduction. Except there was nothing half-assed about it. He could have had me right here on the barn floor, and I think we both knew it.
Can I explain how or why he went from friendly-forest-John to angry-house-John and back to friendly-forest-John again?
Not even. I don’t think I’m the problem here, and I don’t think this guy fits into any kind of normal pattern.
For someone who’s maybe been around for centuries, he acts like he’s never punched his v-card.
I slip my earbuds back in, trying to convince myself I’m ready to get back to work. My dick is softening, at least. I adjust myself, laughing because David would say I’d been left with smurfsticles.
Yeah, don’t think about David right now, dude.
The podcast I’d been listening to went on without me, so I hit pause on my phone and switch over to a light techno streaming station, turning the volume down so I’m more likely to hear it if someone else wanders in.
My concentration is blown, though. John was nice about it, but his story made it clear that by freaking out when his camera went dark, I’d disrupted whatever they were trying to accomplish in the vampire’s lair. Which adds guilt to the fading embers of desire.
That said, he looked even better in black track pants and a tee that could have been painted on than he did in his Ren Faire wannabe getup. For fuck’s sake, I’d just come very close to climbing him like a damn tree.
It’s not just his looks, though. He smells like pine and earth and man, and while he’s not exactly handsome, I can’t not look at him, the way Aragorn in the Lord of the Rings movies dominates the screen even though Legolas is objectively prettier.
Rob is more the Legolas type, except his hair is curly and he smells like seduction. That smile, man, and his whole aura of charm are weapons, and he’s obviously not afraid to use them.
The only thing I’ve learned about de Lisle so far is that he owns a whole bunch of businesses, either directly or under different corporate titles. I’d started with the big ones, digging through websites for corporate information, then broadening my search.
It’s amazing what a little Google-fu can get you.
Like, pages of search hits, and when I start looking at business registries, the list grows longer. It’s slow work, and any worries I have about them giving access to their computer system to the newest kid on their block are overshadowed by my relief at having something to contribute to.
I love my family, especially David and Abby, but they don’t need me, and for whatever reason, these guys do. I mean, I don’t see anybody else out here squinting at poorly maintained government websites looking for clues.
I’m spinning my chair back and forth in time with the beat and have moved on to wondering if I should buy a copy of Hacking for Dummies when Sonny slides into the room.
And slide is the only way to describe how he moves.
Without using vampire speed, he gets from the doorway to my side without much effort that I can see.
If I hadn’t spent time with David’s boyfriend Trajan, this guy’s vampire-ness would freak me out. As it is, he just makes me twitchy.
“How’s it going?” Sonny asks, and I shrug.
“It’s going to take a while.”
His eyes are such a light blue they almost glow, and he’s given up on tying his hair back. It’s hanging long and straight, a bit past his shoulders, the ends cut blunt. “You know, you don’t have to stay out here. You should get some rest.”
I almost ask him when he’s going to sleep but remember vampire in time. “If you’re sure.” My eyes grow heavy at the thought. “I feel bad though. I’m the one who made Will text Rob, which effed up your night.”
He’s got me trapped in his gaze, and if he’s not pawing through my mind, he’s seeing more than I want him to.
“Let go of whatever’s worrying you. We got in and got out with all our appendages attached, and you quite possibly saved John’s life because I had the engine running when he came tearing out of the house.
Just be ready when Rob summons us tomorrow afternoon. ”
My mouth drops open before I can stop it. “Are you going to try to steal the thing tomorrow?”
“Nah. Not yet.” He brushes my shoulder with his knuckles. “Rob’ll have some scheme or other cooked up. Rest now, young wolf. I promise you won’t miss out on anything exciting.”
Why are they all being so nice to me? Color me confused. Slipping my earbuds out, I get up from the chair. “Thank you,” I say, a wave of sleepiness crashing over me. “I’ll see you in the morning”—er, vampire?—“or whenever.”
“Good.” He follows me out of the tech room and locks the door.
Outside, it’s still warm by the standards of someone who grew up in Seattle, and the air smells cleaner than it had during the day.
More like herbs, less like exhaust. Downhill from us downtown LA glows, turning the midnight sky a soft grey and hiding the stars.
I don’t say more than “good night” on my way up to my room, where I strip off my jeans, brush my teeth, and face-plant on the bed.
I’m tired enough that I should drop right off to sleep. I don’t. First, I spend time wondering which of the rooms along this hall belongs to John, and then I spend time wondering what it would be like to share a bed with him.
My cock has opinions about that one. That kiss, man.
That kiss.
Shivers race down my back and my balls remind me that we’d left them pretty blue.
Operating on autopilot, I reach for my cock and start stroking.
I don’t want to build John up too high, but I’m a natural sidekick and he’s definitely a leader.
We’re opposites in just about every way: short versus tall, young versus old, broken versus gorgeously intact.
Putting it that way, it’d obviously never work out between us.
Somehow, I stay hard despite the negative self-talk, and when the climax comes, it’s big enough to make my ears ring. I drift off, wishing there was a big wolf in my bed, and fall asleep knowing I’m as alone as I’ve ever been.
I sleep until ten a.m. I’d feel lazy, but since I ran forty miles through the wilderness two nights ago, and I was hunched over a desktop till all hours last night, I have some catching up to do. When I finally get around to picking up my phone, there’s a text from Abby waiting for me.
Everything okay? Will get the address you want asap.
Abby’s a lot cooler than I deserve.
Just crawled out of bed. Not sure what’s up for today. Need coffee.
I give her a minute to respond, and when she doesn’t, I clean up and get dressed.
I go with track pants instead of jeans, because it’s likely I’m going to be in front of the computer all day, and this way my jeans will be clean—or cleaner—if I do have to go out.
After a final glance in the bathroom mirror to make sure my eye patch is on right, I wander downstairs.
The owner, Cherie, is standing next to a buffet cupboard in the dining room. Comfortably round, she’s not any taller than I am, even with her hair in a long braid that’s twisted in a knot on the top of her head. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
She pours me a cup from the pot on the buffet and hands it over. “You’re not like ’em,” she says calmly, making me choke on my first sip.
It takes me a second to stop sputtering and grind out the words, “Like who?”
“Peter Pan and his Lost Boys.” Her gaze is thoughtful and a little amused. “I mean, that thing”—she points to her eye—“is pretty badass, and you’re the only one who doesn’t seem like he popped out of a history book.”
Seems like a broad statement to make, since I’ve said like four words to her, so I have no idea how to respond.
Yeah, man, Gen Z for the win? I try to cover with another sip of coffee.
This one goes down the right tube, but when I glance up, her curiosity is still obvious.
“Ren Faire dropouts?” I mumble into my mug.
Rolling her eyes, she gestures at the tray of baked goods. “Help yourself. There’s bacon on the stove, and if you want oatmeal or eggs or something, let me know.”
My stomach growls at the very idea of food. “Eggs and bacon would be awesome.” Last night I was too twisted up to do more than nibble at the tamale she served me. Now I can eat.
“Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”
I liberate a particularly large muffin and do as she says. When she returns, she’s got a platter full of scrambled eggs, some fat strips of bacon, and a couple leftover tamales. She leaves me to dive into my little slice of heaven without any more awkward questions.
Rob wanders in as I’m scraping up the last bite of tamale. He glances from my empty plate to the half-empty platter beside it. “Oh, that’s unfortunate.”
“What?” My gut clutches. How was I supposed to know breakfast was a bad idea? These guys don’t come with directions.
He flaps a hand at me. “You’re off the hook, John,” he calls over his shoulder. “Your student just finished breakfast, so there’ll be no training till he’s had time to digest.”
John comes through the door behind him, his scowl reaching new levels of darkness. Okay, so angry-house-John is back. Awesome.
“We shouldn’t put him in a situation where he has to fight.”
That makes me sit straight and cross my arms. “In the first place, I’m a werewolf.
I know how to fight, and my metabolism is fast enough that I don’t really need time to digest anything.
” Annoyance gives way to anger and I stand up, planting my palms on the tabletop.
“I’ve fought wolves, elves, and even strigoi, and lived to tell about it, and I’m not going to fade away if things get tough. ”
“See?” Rob elbows John. “The boy’s got nerve.”
John glares at him until Rob makes a face that mocks his scowl. At that, John snorts and rakes a hand through his hair. “If you insist.” He turns to me, his scowl fading to something softer. “Meet me out back in half an hour or so.”
They leave me with my empty plate and the cold dregs of my coffee. As I scoot my chair back, Cherie pops out of the kitchen. “What’s a strigoi?”
Since I have no idea how much she knows about the supernatural, I should probably come up with a clever lie. My brain’s not quick enough—too much blood must be helping my stomach digest—so I tell her the truth. “Halfway between a zombie and a vampire but a lot less fun.”
“Oh,” she says, a crease appearing between her brows. “You’re more like them than I thought.”
Shrugging, I pile my coffee mug and silverware on my plate and carry it to the kitchen. She steps aside to let me enter, the weight of her stare like a blanket on my shoulders. I set my breakfast things by the sink and turn to face her. “Thanks for the breakfast.”
“Rob paid me a lot of money for y’all to stay here, on the condition that I wouldn’t ask him questions.”
She’s blocking the way into the dining room, and while I could make a run out the back door, she did make me a damn good breakfast. Besides, I hadn’t been raised with any kind of crazy prohibition against telling people what I am.
“You’re not wrong that we’re all a little extra, but a lot of this isn’t my story to tell. ”
“What part is your story?”
“The part where I’m the new kid and I’m still figuring things out, and from what I can tell, no one here is dangerous.” I give her a sympathetic grin. “To you, anyway.”
She purses her lips, clearly thinking about what her next question should be.
“John? Marcus? Can you come here, please?” The amount of anxiety coming through than Rob’s usual Captain Charisma vibe makes me jump.
Grateful at being saved from giving a lecture in Paranormal 101, I make a half-assed apology and skate around Cherie to get out of the room.
Rob is in the foyer, attention glued to his phone. John comes out of the front room at the same time I escape the kitchen. “What’s going on?” John asks.
No, demands.
Scowling, Rob pecks at his phone a couple more times and glances at John. “Someone is fucking with us.”
That flash of anger is hot enough to startle me, and I take an unconscious step back.
“Who?” John’s just as terse, his expression battle-ready.
“I don’t know.” Rob pockets his phone. “Before I brought you here, a witch cast wards of concealment around this place to hide us from de Lisle, and I can’t emphasize enough how important it is that those wards keep us and this place safe.”
John interrupts him. “And?”
“And someone just made an attempt to breech them.”
His delivery is somber, way more severe than his words would suggest. John must agree, because again he asks, “Who?”
“I don’t know.” He says it quickly, as if he’d rather skip over that part and focus on the drama of the situation.
“They didn’t break through, right?” The scorching look Rob gives me makes it clear I should have kept my mouth shut. Instead, I keep talking. “I mean, depending on how tightly the wards are keyed, they could have been triggered by a mail carrier with a touch of the supernatural in his family tree.”
Rob tries to wither me with another hard glance. “And you’re an expert on witchcraft, too?”
“Werewolf, dude. We always had wards set before family gatherings to keep mundanes out of our fur.”
“So I should just chalk this up to someone random?”
I shrug. “Probably not, but I don’t think you need to go full aggro when you don’t really know what happened.”
John gives a soft cough that might be covering a laugh, which gives me more confidence despite Rob’s scowl. “So what should I do? I can’t ignore something like this.”
“I’m not saying you should. How do you know the wards were triggered?”
He waves his phone. “I got a text from Jen, the witch who set them. She’s monitoring things from home.”
“So ask her what she thinks. I mean, how likely it is that de Lisle would send somebody after you so soon?” It’s about patterns, right?
“He’s got a point,” John says quietly.
“I’m glad you agree.” Though the sarcasm is thick in his voice, he swipes at his phone like he’s going to take my advice. “Why don’t you two get some training in and I’ll have a conversation with Jen.”
John flashes a hot glare at Rob, and I gotta wonder what “training” means for these dudes, because if it involves any kind of physical contact, it’s doubtful my track pants will hide my hard-on.