Page 2 of Fated Mates and How to Seduce Them
Of course, Cunt Magnifique was there in a second, petting his arms and probably saying something about him having one too many, but Ian wasn’t about to let her sink her hooks into André. Ian had no patience with lowlifes like her. None of the staff did.
“—I’ll just take him.” she said to the others in the group, her arm around André’s waist. She kept smoothing a hand over his pecs, too, as if trying to calm him, but it looked gropey as hell.
Ian threw her hand off without ceremony, grabbed André by the waist, and hauled him in to lean against Ian’s chest. Damn, he was freaking tall. His head rested against the top of Ian’s. Also deceptively heavy for such a lean frame. Ian had to put effort into supporting him. If not for his muscle gained through carting around kegs, and him planting his feet, he might have dropped André altogether.
Also, why the hell did he smell like pine trees on a cool morning? It was such an interesting, wonderful scent. Was this cologne? Surely not.
The girl immediately protested, her voice loud even over the music and grating against his ears. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
Ian looked her dead in the eye and drawled, “It’s policy that if someone acts impaired, we take them to the back to sleep it off. If they show signs of being drugged, we call an ambulance. None of you get to take him anywhere until he’s awake enough to consent.”
She tried for a pout and whined, “We’re all friends—”
“I seriously doubt it. He’s been trying to avoid you all evening.” Ian ignored her outraged gasp as he bent and lifted André into his arms, which was harder than it looked. The bridal carry didn’t make it any easier, but André was out cold, so he could hardly be dragged along.
Another guy stood and tried to block Ian. Thin, long in the face, light blond hair—seemed familiar? Ian had seen him with André before, so he might’ve been a friend? Honestly, he wasn’t sure and wasn’t about to take chances.
“Hey, man, I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with you taking him somewhere.”
“Tough.”
Ian ignored all other protests from the rest of the group and headed for the back. Harry caught his eye and motioned him with a jerk of his chin toward the employees-only door. It led into a break room where they sometimes let people sleep it off. No one wanted a drunk on the road, after all. Ian stopped by Harry’s side long enough to say, “Grab his glass. He had a blood whiskey, neat, on the edge nearest us. That girl in the red dress spiked it.”
“Got it.”
“Thanks, man.”
André was a dead weight in his arms as Ian walked the short distance to the quiet break room. Ian hip checked the door open, thanking all the angels it hadn’t been fully closed—his arms were shaking already, and trying to maneuver André and open a door at the same time would not have worked out well. At all. You could hear the muffled bass of the music from here, but it was a distant roar. Good soundproofing had something to do with that. The automatic lights flared to life, and Ian puffed out a breath as he carefully laid André down on the couch, then stood over him for a second. He looked defenseless sleeping. Also completely out of it.
André’s genetics were apparently godly because damn, in proper lighting and up close like this, he was even more attractive. Not that Ian had a thing for playboys, but still, André’s lips had a beautiful bow shape to them, his face was perfectly sculpted, and he even had a beauty mole under one eye. How was it that even drugged up to his eyeballs, he still looked like Adonis?
Life was unfair.
“I can see why she’s into you,” Ian told him with a sad shake of his head. “You’re sinfully gorgeous. But dude, you gotta learn how to tell people to fuck off, okay? People can be ruthless to get what they want, and you playing nice doesn’t do you any favors. Don’t rely on your vampire powers so much. You’re not infallible just because you vamps can make people freeze on command.”
Boss came in at a jog, the music from the live band briefly loud before he shut the door again, taking in the man on the couch. He ran a hand over his almost nonexistent hair, then over his five o’clock shadow, wide-set eyes narrowed in distaste and concern. “Harry said he’s drugged? You sure?”
“I watched her drop something into his glass. Harry’s getting the evidence.”
“Okay, good. Call the police; I’ve made sure the bouncers have the girl in hand.”
“Sure.” Ian took out his phone and placed the call, happy to tell the dispatcher the particulars, including the name of who’d been drugged.
With Boss’s assurance he’d sit with André until the ambulance and cops came, Ian went back to the bar. He couldn’t leave Harry out there by himself. It wasn’t fair to his coworker. The place was slammed on Saturday nights, always was. He went back to work with the feeling he’d done good. He’d helped someone. When the police came, he’d give a statement, and that would be that. Hopefully, André would learn something from tonight and not repeat the mistake of thinking vampire powers meant you were automatically safe from crazies.
He had a feeling the girl would get what was coming to her, though. Ian had no patience with rapists.
André woke with a start and immediately knew he wasn’t in his own bed. The white walls, scratchy white blanket underneath his hands, and monitors to either side of him gave him a good hint of where he was.
Why the hell was he in a hospital bed?
Granted, it had been about three weeks since he’d properly fed, but surely that wasn’t long enough to land him in the hospital? He was a generation zero vampire, for fuck’s sake. This was just embarrassing.
Turning his head, he found both his brother and mother sitting nearby. His mother was impeccably dressed in a powder blue suit with matching pencil skirt, copper toned hair in a twist at the back of her head. She looked like she’d been at a dinnermeeting and hastily left from it, which could very well be the case.
Scratch that, it definitely had been something formal, as his brother was in a tux, only the tie and top button undone. If their mother had gotten Benedict into a tux, and his dark hair actually styled with gel, then she’d without a doubt been at some official gathering.
“André?” his mother asked in clear worry, her small hand grasping his. “How are you feeling, honey?”
