Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Quin
Quin reclined in the armchair in Kit’s living room, watching him fluff a cushion, then place it this way and that on the sofa. Quin thought the cushion looked the same no matter how it sat, but Kit seemed to want to discover a new angle that didn’t exist in their particular dimension.
Kit had been flitting around the flat the last couple of nights, cleaning it from top to bottom, using so much bleach spray and air freshener it scraped at the back of Quin’s throat.
When Kit turned the cushion over again, Quin decided it was enough. “Baby, come here.”
Kit glared at the cushion but obeyed.
Quin grabbed hold of him and pulled him to stand between his spread legs. “What are you worried about?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
It was the expected response, but not the one that he wanted. “Kit.”
Kit made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. “What if they hate the flat?”
“Why would they hate it?”
“Because it’s ugly.”
“Kit, your flat isn’t ugly. I’m pretty sure the guys are just going to be excited to see you again.”
“They barely know me. What if it’s awkward?”
“Then it’s awkward.”
Kit opened his mouth to protest, but then his head snapped around to face the road. “I can hear them.”
Quin strained his ears, making out a couple of voices; both with English accents, one deeper than the other. Whoever owned the deeper voice spoke a mile a minute as they rambled about the best beach they’d ever visited, which was apparently in Jamaica.
“That’s DJ,” Kit whispered.
The other person responded, remarking on how the white, sunny beaches of Brighton compared to the golden sands of Turtle Beach. They were getting closer to the door.
“Shaun,” Kit said.
The next voice—another English accent—was close enough now that Quin could hear every word clearly. “I’m aware you’re being sarcastic, sweetheart, but I feel the burning need to point out that Brighton beach is all pebbles.”
“And Rake,” Kit provided.
The knock on the front door took Quin by surprise. They’d sounded further away still.
“Deej! Someone might have seen you disappear!” Rake hissed. Ah. That explained it.
Kit tottered into the hallway like he’d forgotten how to put one foot in front of the other. Quin followed and propped himself in the doorway between the hall and the open-plan kitchen and living room.
Kit paused at the front door and glanced backwards. Quin gave him an encouraging thumbs up, to which Kit responded with an exasperated look.
“Go on,” Quin mouthed.
Kit turned back to the door and opened it.
“Kitty boy!”
“What the fuck have I told you about calling me that?”
A big, broad man with dark skin and close-cropped black curls stepped through the entryway, arms thrown wide. “C’mere and give me a hug.”
“Since when did you think I became a hugger?” Kit shuffled backwards, out of reach of the vampire who Quin assumed to be DJ.
“I bet you give great hugs,” DJ said.
“Kit does,” Quin said.
DJ’s attention whipped to Quin, eyes trailing up and down his body overtly. “Well, hello, Daddy,” he purred. “I’m DJ.”
“Absolutely not,” Kit said, putting his hands on his hips and glaring up at DJ.
“Called it! Shaun, you owe me a blowjob,” DJ crowed, turning to his boyfriends as they trailed him into the house.
“I hate you,” Kit said. “Why did I invite you here? Leave.” He pointed at the door, but Quin grasped his hand and pulled him to his side instead.
“He’s just winding you up,” Quin said. “Nice to meet you, DJ.”
“Not that nice, I hope,” Kit said, pouting.
“You’re gonna be in so much trouble,” Shaun said to DJ. He was of a height with Kit, with messy ginger hair and pale skin. He looked more of a Scottish stereotype than Kit did, his pallor almost corpse-like.
DJ shrugged. “I had to.”
“No, you didn’t,” Kit said.
Rake—slimmer and a tad shorter than DJ, with warm, brown-hued skin—rubbed at his forehead above a pair of spectacularly thick, dark eyebrows. “Sweetheart, we talked about this.”
“Yeah,” DJ said. “And we both agreed that Kit was in dire need of a Daddy.”
“Is this normal?” Quin whispered to Kit.
He got a chorus of yeses in response, because of course being in a roomful of vampires meant nothing said was private.
Shaun held out a friendly hand to Quin. “Shaun. Good to meet you.” He jerked his head towards Rake. “And this is Rake. He doesn’t do the whole handshake thing. It’s not you, it’s him.”
“Quince Rheon, nice to meet you all,” Quin said, giving Shaun’s hand a shake and Rake a little wave.
Kit squeaked. Quin checked behind him in the kitchen to make sure that a mouse hadn’t snuck in before looking down at Kit, confused. “What?”
“Since when was your name Quince?” Kit said, in such a high voice that Quin was surprised it didn’t break.
Quin’s face heated with embarrassment. “Since I was born?”
“Oh my god, don’t tell me you didn’t know your own boyfriend’s name?” Shaun said, looking delighted at the prospect.
“He never told me!” Kit turned to Quin. “You never told me!”
“I don’t go by my full name. Kinda forgot I hadn’t mentioned it.”
Kit frowned. “Quince. Sage. Lark. Do all werewolves have nature names?”
Quin shrugged. “Packs have their own naming conventions.”
“So, you’re like the supernatural equivalent of the Kardashian-Jenners?” DJ asked.
“The who?” Quin said, pretending that he was the sort of person who hadn’t watched hundreds of hours of reality television. Maybe they’d believe he read the news instead.
“More to the point, what’s quince?” Rake asked. “Sage is a plant. Lark is a bird…”
“Quince is a fruit,” Shaun said.
“Tasty,” DJ said, raking his gaze up and down Quin’s body.
“Stop looking at him,” Kit said.
DJ just smiled from ear to ear.
“How about we all go into the living room and sit down?” Quin suggested before Kit got too possessive and acted out like he had at the cinema.
He steered Kit through—the others following—and directed him to the only armchair in the room. He was about to deposit Kit there, but Kit pushed him down first and then sat right on Quin’s lap, staking his claim.
The others sat on the sofa, Shaun in the middle, bracketed by his boyfriends. The corner of Rake’s lips ticked up in a small, tentative smile as he looked pointedly at Kit’s choice of seat.
“Christ, have you committed a murder recently?” DJ asked, nostrils flaring as he looked around.
Kit’s face hardened. “What?”
“Smells as if you dumped an entire bottle of bleach in here. Have you been naughty, Kit?”
“Deej, I would like to think that murder would be considered a little worse than ‘naughty’ in your eyes,” Rake said dryly.
“Very naughty,” DJ conceded.
“I’m not naughty!” Kit said, though his eyes darted to Quin in a way that gave the game away. Kit was apparently terrible at keeping a straight face under pressure.
“Oh, you definitely are,” Shaun said.
“Okay, fine,” Kit said, raising a quelling hand. “Yes, we’re kinky too. He’s my Daddy, and that’s that. No further discussion required. Now, let’s get through one conversation without innuendo, shall we?”
Shaun shook his head, hair bouncing. “It’s not possible.”
DJ’s eyes glittered with mischief. “C’mon, you know nothing is impossible. Remember when you said that about the two of us—”
“Sweetheart, if you finish that sentence, you won’t like the consequences,” Rake said. By DJ’s not-unenthusiastic reaction to the threat, Quin was sure that he would, in fact, enjoy the consequences.
Kit rolled his eyes so emphatically that he almost tipped back and fell off Quin’s lap. “You guys haven’t changed at all.”
“But you have,” Shaun said. “How did you two meet?”
“Oh, he caught my scent and chased me down in a remote forest when he was in his wolf form.”
“So romantic,” Shaun said. Quin didn’t detect even one note of sarcasm in his voice.
“I couldn’t resist him,” Quin said, tucking a lock of Kit’s hair behind one ear.
Shaun’s eyes went soft as he looked at them. Quin might have found it patronising before he knew about Kit’s—and by extension, Shaun’s—past, but he could tell that Shaun was happy for Kit. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only person in his boy’s life who cared about him.
“I was promised a dog,” DJ said. “Where’s the dog?”
“She’s with the dog sitter for a few days,” Quin said.
“Oh,” DJ said, dejected before brightening again. “Can you turn into a wolf for us?”
“It’s not a party trick,” Kit said.
“Also, I can only do it at the full moon,” Quin said.
“Well, we've gotta stick around until the full moon, then,” DJ said. “Do we have to”—he waved a hand towards his neck and bared his fangs—“visit the territory leader to tell them we’re here?”
Quin shared a cautious look with Kit. They’d wanted a bit more time before hitting the trio with the situation, but this was an apt opportunity to bring it up. Kit nodded his approval.
Quin drew in a breath. “So, we’re not on great terms with the nest leader.”
“What did you do?” Rake asked.
“I resent the implication that we were the ones to do anything,” Kit said.
“I wasn’t implying,” Rake said. “I was assuming.”
Quin tilted his head, unsure if Rake was being serious. Judging by his blank expression, he was. “A few vampires from the St Andrews nest, including the leader, Conroy, decided to go hunting for wolf on the last full moon,” Quin said.
“Oh,” Rake said musingly, as if Quin had told him a mildly interesting fact and not that someone had attempted to murder him.
“Did you kick some ass?” DJ asked.
“A bit,” Kit said. “But then we ended up in some weird blood pact to do no harm to each other, thanks to the witches that showed up.”
“As you do,” Shaun said.
“I’d be interested in meeting the witches,” Rake said. “Ever since I found out they’re the ones who created the vampire curse in the first place, I’ve wanted to ask them how they do it.”
“That’s handy, because we have to engage with them for—something,” Kit added. “Which is where you all come in. We need your help.”
“What’s with the deliberate vagueness?” Shaun asked.