Chapter 17 Kaian
Kaian
The Uber Quinn calls turns out to be no bigger than a small BMW sedan.
Good-looking in a clean-cut way, the smirking driver clearly uses his job to cruise for pick-ups—in every sense of the word.
And if his predatory smile and stare are anything to go by, the person he wants to pick up tonight is Quinn.
Oddly, Kaian finds he hates the idea of Quinn sitting up front with Mr. Creepy-Cruiser, but when Kaian offers to sit up front, the beautiful man (werewolf!) growls, giving Kaian a push until he slides over the back seat to press against the far door.
Kai can’t see Quinn’s face, but whatever is in his expression wipes that smirk off the driver’s face so fast, he can’t spin around in his seat fast enough.
Quinn directs the woozy Soren in after him, a hand protecting his injured head with a tenderness that makes Kaian ache.
If Kaian had thought Quinn would sit up front anyway, he was dead wrong.
Once Soren’s head is leaning against the glass, Quinn is around to his side of the car, lifting Kaian as if he weighs nothing, and settling him onto his lap in the tight confines of the rear seat.
The heat of Quinn’s body is like a furnace, and Kaian’s body shudders with relief.
“Up you go, bébé,” he murmurs, his accent curling around the word, making it feel like a caress rather than a throw-away endearment.
“Not a baby.”
“Yeah?” Quinn’s voice is low, disbelieving—almost amused. For reasons he doesn’t want to look at too closely, it’s important to Kaian that Quinn knows he’s not a teenager.
“I get that a lot, but I’m twenty-seven.”
“No kidding? I can tell if you’re lying.” His nostrils flare, his shoulders relaxing. “Good thing.” His big hands settle on Kaian’s hips—firm and possessive, as if this isn’t the first time Quinn has pressed fingertips under Kaian’s T-shirt to graze the smooth skin.
A flush creeps up Kaian’s neck, heat pooling low in his belly.
He’s acutely aware of every inch of Quinn pressed against him, of the way Quinn’s nose brushes the back of his neck, inhaling deep, as if trying to memorize his scent.
Kaian shivers, wondering if this is normal for werewolves, or just for Quinn.
A subtle shift tells Kaian everything he needs to know—Quinn is hard, and the knowledge shoots an answering bolt of arousal straight to Kaian’s groin. He bites his lips, trying to focus on not shifting, grinding down, but every bump of the car causes a gasp to slip between his parted lips.
“Be still. Fuck.” Quinn squeezes his waist hard, and Kaian can’t tell if it’s a plea or a command. His voice is smooth like silk, and the curse word is tinged with heat.
Kaian can’t help it: he whines, low but still audible in the quiet car. “It’s not me. It’s the car…” Kaian groans, trying not to think about how it would feel to be impaled in the back of this Uber, watching as Quinn’s dark fingers pull on Kaian’s dick as every bump and jostle takes them higher.
“What are you thinking about, angel-baby?” Soren whispers, eyes glittering in the dark of the car. “Blaze feel good?”
For a brief second, being watched and the question take Kaian’s arousal up a notch, and beads of sweat break out on his forehead. It’s quickly followed by a wave of burning hot shame for his unfettered fantasy about Soren’s boyfriend.
“Sorry,” Kaian whispers, voice small. It’s not like him to be reckless, to let his guard down, especially during a medical emergency. He tries to focus on Soren, with bruises high on his cheek and his split lip.
With a soothing hum, Quinn presses his nose into Kaian’s hair. It’s an oddly familiar gesture for someone he’d met twenty minutes ago. Hot breath warms his neck, and his groan is almost inaudible. “Nothing to be sorry about. Just—fuck. Let’s just talk at my place, okay?”
Soren closes his eyes when his words don’t get a rise out of Quinn, and where there had been a small smirk, his face relaxes into unconsciousness again shortly afterward.
That’s got to be bad, right? Like, bouts of unconsciousness and semi-lucidity? Wouldn’t it be one or the other?
“Should we take him to the ER?” Kaian asks again, turning so he can see Quinn’s face. This is closer than he had been when Quinn bent over them in the alley, and Kaian has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning out another Whoa.
For a moment, he forgets what he was going to say.
Quinn is the most beautiful person he has ever seen, and Kaian has seen thousands of faces in hundreds of places.
This close, Kaian can see that his eyes have flecks of yellow in the amber-brown, and a few of his lashes have gold tips.
His arousal is a steady thrum in his belly, but it’s the pounding of Quinn’s heart beneath his cheek that gives him the courage to rub a smudge of glitter from a high cheekbone, down toward full lips.
His wrist is caught in long fingers, and if Kaian isn’t mistaken, there’s fear threaded through the arousal in Quinn’s eyes.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I keep doing weird shit. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing wrong with you, bébé. I promise. But you’re so young and you don’t know shit about shit.” Quinn’s words are gentle, but his jaw is clenched as if he is fighting himself.
Kaian bristles, but before he can snap back, the Uber hits a pothole and Quinn’s arms clamp around him. He’s never felt so safe and so exposed at the same time.
“But you didn’t answer me, does he need a hospital?” Kaian leans in and presses the words against the shell of Quinn’s ear. “I thought werewolves healed fast?”
Quinn gives a full-body shudder. Kaian feels everywhere they’re pressed together, but shakes his head. It’s followed by an answering squeeze to his waist. “We’re almost to my place.”
Kaian wants answers, but he can wait five more minutes. Settling sideways into Quinn’s chest, he keeps his eyes on Soren. Lets his mind wander back to the alley, to the moment it all began unraveling.
He lets his eyes slip over Soren’s long, straight nose, the scar bisecting his eyebrow, and the dark purple bruise marring his cheekbone.
His thoughts skim over the moment they’d locked eyes over the arena, that small life-altering touch to his shoulder, and the last look of recognition Kaian couldn’t deny.
Soren Vexley is the first person he’d not been able to “read.” Violent and angry, scarred and—if Kaian had to guess, somewhere deep inside—scared.
But also, even for the brief moments he’d been lucid, he’d been funny and sarcastic.
Powerful in a way that made Kaian think he could set his burdens down for a moment and that Soren might carry the load.
Kaian wants so badly to reach out and feel that connection again.
The same kind of instant connection and sizzling attraction he’s feeling for Quinn. Both men feel like an inevitable pull of gravity pulling Kaian into an unknown orbit.
But even as he lets himself take a little comfort for himself, a tingle of fear courses down his spine. These aren’t men at all.
The word “werewolf” still feels absurd in his mind, but there’s no denying it now—not after what he’s seen, not with the way Quinn’s touch feels almost too hot. Kaian’s magic is a thing of hidden myth, but nothing could have prepared him for fangs and claws.
The memory makes him tense up, fear skittering down his spine. While Kaian may not be without defenses that he’d honed with experience he’d rather not think about, this quiver feels like it comes from deep in his psyche, born of instinctual memories of what it means to be prey.
A sudden growl from Soren, head banging against the window, jolts Kaian back. The car had stopped in front of a small bakery, windows dark, a sign promising fresh bread at six AM, seven days a week.
“Fucking finally. Come on. Let’s get inside. You’re going to set him off, and I don’t want to be stuck inside this clown car when he—” Quinn mutters. He helps Kaian out of the car before following around onto the sidewalk, where he opens Soren’s door.
Soren is unconscious despite his growls in the car, and he tips sideways into Quinn’s hands. “Fucking shit, how is he such a deadweight?” Grunting, he hefts Soren over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.
“I thought werewolves were super strong?” Kaian teases, just to see Quinn frown.
He’s surprised to find he’s hungry for all of Quinn’s—and Soren’s—expressions.
He clocks the several silver rings on long fingers gripping Soren’s legs and glinting under the full moon.
“I thought you couldn’t wear silver? I thought you howled at the—”
It should have been no surprise when Quinn’s mouth lands on his, a big hand tangled in Kaian’s hair. Sharp, human-like teeth pull at his lower lip, and the soft touch of his tongue steals every question out of Kaian’s head. Heart pounding, his knees buckle, and Kaian almost misses his, “Hush, now.”
He looks as surprised as Kaian at the action—but he shakes it off faster, and without a backward glance, he heads down the alley between the bakery and an empty storefront, not waiting for Kaian to follow.
Kaian can’t help but grin, hurrying to catch up.
He’ll find time to feel bad that he’s kissed another man’s boyfriend later.
Maybe add the apology to the one for distracting Soren during the fight once he’s awake for longer than thirty seconds at a time.
But for now, he’s going to enjoy the best kiss he’s ever had.
Quinn is standing at the top of the stairs by the time Kaian gets to the rear of the building, and Kaian supposes he was right about werewolves being strong—because, despite the original complaints, he’s managing Soren’s weight easily.
He is, however, struggling to get the door open.
“Can I help?” Kaian won’t be able to hold Soren, but he could dig keys out of his bag or hold the beautiful, scarred leather satchel.
Although Kaian hasn’t known him long, he knows the hesitation that follows is uncharacteristic.