Page 185 of Golden Eagle

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Alexei retracted his fangs and passed his tongue over the puncture wounds a few times, clotting the blood flow, swallowing the last drops down. A wolf’s blood would have left him feeling stronger, rejuvenated after all their wild adventuring lately – he had felt the way even the simplest bruises had bled and bled beneath his skin, reluctant to heal. Stress made it worse. Now, with a belly full of human blood – his blood humming and crackling like he’d snorted a line of cocaine – he could feel the bleeds receding; the fever leaving his limbs. It wasn’t as effective as wolf, no, but human blood was world’s better than the butcher’s shop leftovers he was forced to microwave and swallow down at Lanny’s place.

The woman he’d fed from, compelled enough to think nothing of offering her throat to his fangs, sat up with a drowsy smile, gaze heavy-lidded, her mascara smudged. She passed a hand down his chest, flirting with the hem of his shirt, just above the obvious bulge in his jeans. He was hard, excited, from feeding, but tonight it felt like a simple chemical reaction, aimless, and not anything he wanted to pursue.

“Hmm,” she hummed tracing a nail around the button of his jeans, and then palming his erection. “Maybe we ought to do something about that. No sense letting everyone else have all the fun.”

Earlier, Dante had made a few phone calls, and four young, beautiful women had shown up, all of them willing and eager. Jamie had gone red-faced, and stammering, and tried to beg off on participating, indignant and, really, just exhausting. When Alexei had taken this woman back to the bedroom, he’d heard Dante laughing, and the others teasing Jamie, and from the sound of things, he’d finally stopped protesting and started enjoying himself.

Good, Alexei thought a little savagely.He needs to get over himself.

Uncharitable thoughts – just like all his thoughts, lately.

What the hell was wrong with him?

When the woman reached for his zipper, he stopped her, gently, and sat up. “Sorry,” he said. “Guess I’m just not feeling it tonight.”

She made an indignant sound, and followed him when he went out of the room and out into the main area of the apartment.

In the living room, the coffee table had been pushed aside, and Jamie lay on his back on the rug, shirtless, his jeans open. One woman sat astride his hips, riding him with languid rolls of her hips, and another knelt at his head, her wrist in his mouth as he fed. His chest heaved, and his spine lifted as he was wracked with sensation, a scene Alexei knew intimately, from experience. Knew the exact kind of ecstasy that came from feeding and fucking at the same time.

Now, though, it held no attraction. “Go hang out with them,” he told the woman behind him, giving her a little push and a bit of compulsion, and headed for the kitchen.

Dante sat on the sofa with the other woman, a redhead in a black mini dress, the two of them kissing lazily while Dante’s hand played down the front of her dress. He lifted his head when Alexei went past, brows lifted. “You fed?” Even breathless and pink-lipped, he sounded far too much like a caretaker checking up on his charge.

“Yes,” Alexei growled, and went to stare vacantly into the fridge.

Dante joined him a moment later, arms folded, leaning up

against the counter. He’d smoothed his hair back and wiped his mouth. “She wasn’t to your taste?” he asked.

“She was fine.” Alexei finally selected a water bottle and let the door fall shut. The cool water was delicious after the salty heat of blood, and he drained half of it in a few long swallows before he made eye contact with Dante.

“What about this, then?” He pressed his palm to the bulge in Alexei’s jeans.

Alexei swatted him away and turned his back on him. Went to stand in front of the cooktop on the island, and drink his water, and stare mindlessly at the scene unfolding on the rug. Jamie had all four women all to himself, now, and clearly had no idea what to do with that many of them, eyes glazed, drunk on blood and pleasure.

Alexei knew a distant urge to smirk. A thought ofgood for him. But there was a veil between those sentiments, and what he currently felt – aggravation-touched numbness.

Dante gave him a moment’s peace, and then his bare feet shifted over the floor tiles, and his hands landed lightly on Alexei’s biceps. Alexei tensed, but Dante pressed in close behind him, undeterred. He was taller than Alexei, his breath rustling the hair at the back of his head, though leaner.

“What’s got you so preoccupied?” Dante asked, low, in the Americanized purr that he used on the women and men he talked into his bed. It was a ruse, a fake persona, and Alexei didn’t want to hear it right now; a spike of irritation that threatened to pierce the numbness.

“Don’t play stupid,” he snapped. “Basil.”

He heard a quick intake of breath behind him, and Dante stiffened a fraction. But then he exhaled, and his hands slid down Alexei’s arms and moved to his hips, fingertips digging in through denim. “Is that what you want, then?” Still low, and full of promise, but his true accent, crisp and cultured.

The sound of it sent an unwanted shiver down Alexei’s back.

“Ah,” Dante said, shifting in closer, pressing his hips into Alexei’s backside. “Is it the accent you want?” His hands migrated forward a fraction, fingers stretching out. “Or the honesty?”

Alexei snorted, and didn’t answer. His hand tightened on the water bottle until it crackled, though, so he set it down on the counter.

“Here’s what I think,” Dante continued, dropping his head to nose at Alexei’s ear, and the tender skin behind it. Skimming his lips in the faintest pass along the side of his throat, where he could of course feel and hear the quickening throb of Alexei’s pulse. “I think you’ve gotten bored with charades. I think you want somethingreal.”

He shivered again. The tone and the touching were Dante the Playboy, but the voice, and the insight, were all Basil, and he didn’t know what to think about that.

(A lie. His cock knew what to think about it, straining now against his fly, his adrenaline surging.)

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