Page 12 of How to Bare Your Neck and Save a Wreck
Andres scooped up Shane’s legs first, lifting the man’s knees until his lashes fluttered. His eyes didn’t quite open, but he pulled from Andres’s touch with more certainty. Andres’s chest hurt. He followed the retreat, drawing his thumb up the side of Shane’s arm along the rip Maul had cut in his sleeve.
“It’s all right, Cygnus, it’s me,” he murmured, his voice dripping with the flirtatious darkness he’d employed on Shane at the gala, hoping that the sound and touch—devoid of tears and clumsiness and all the pathetic qualities Shane had first seen in him at the bar—might awaken the memories buried in Shane’s subconscious. If only his little swan had held on to their kiss with a tenth of the spark that Andres had. “I’m here for you.”
Shane went so still that a tight panic began welling in Andres’s chest—if Shane didn’t recognize him, or simply couldn’t find some level of safety in him after whatever hell Maul had put him through—
Then Shane’s breath released. He eased into Andres’s touch, his whole being leaning toward Andres’s side of the chair, toward his presence or his scent or whatever the man could sense of him in his current state. “It’s you…”
“It’s me,” Andres whispered back. “I’m picking you up now, all right?”
Shane made a sound in response, his eyes still closed, but Andres thought it was affirmative. He slipped Shane’s arm over his shoulder and cupped him behind the back, arm still beneath his knees, and lifted him bridal-style. It was so easy with his vampiric strength, but by the looks of Shane—lean and small and a little bony—he wouldn’t have been hard to carry regardless.
His head lolled backward, and he groaned. Andres shifted his hold, helping Shane rest his temple on Andres’s shoulder. Shane’s pained noises turned softer, and he tucked himself close like he was going to sleep there. It was… strangely perfect. Shane so vulnerable in his arms, so trusting, so entirelyhis—this man that he didn’t even truly know, but whose blood now belonged to Andres. He could still taste Shane, the last remnants of that sunshine scent singing on his tongue.
He avoided the now-busy front room, taking Shane down the hall and out the back, using the far alley to reach his car. If Shane had driven his own vehicle there, someone would have to come back for it later. As he leaned to open his passenger door, Shane muttered in his arms, his words slurring together.
“How did you find me?” His breath tickled Andres’s skin.
“I think you foundme, my Cygnus.”
“I’ve been looking…”
That did something odd and lovely to Andres’s chest. Shane had been looking forhim?Had that been what the investigating was for? Because Shane had wanted him, had wanted more of their time at the gala, more of whateverthiswas.
He hadn’t known Andres at the bar, but it seemed that was truly because of the circumstance—because of Andres’s breakdown, his hoarse voice, the utter lack of flirtation and touch and mystery. Part of him feared that the moment Shanewoke properly, saw who Andres was beneath the bravado, he’d realize he really didn’t want anything more from Andres but friendship. Perhaps, though, Andres could do something about that…
He lowered Shane into the seat and put on his belt before climbing into the driver’s side.
Fuck, where did Shane live?
“Cygnus?” He asked, but with his legs down again, his little swan had passed out, head dropped to one side to expose the length of his beautiful neck.
Andres could feel what remained of Shane’s blood struggling to pump through the veins that ran beneath the skin. Andres could feel, too, the venom filling his fangs at the thought of another taste. But right now, what he needed was to get Shane lying down again and give him enough venom for his blood to replenish.
Andres had a vision of Shane in the luxurious king-sized bed he’d treated himself to last year, swaddled in silken sheets and sheer fabric, brought home and kept close the way Maul surely thought Andres would. The idea sent a shudder through him and he tried to burn it from his mind as soon as it appeared, but it left a residue behind: the thought of Shane in a little collar of precious metal with a chain to tug on and a gap for Andres’s fangs to sink in. It was delicious and it was monstrous and he couldnotlet it get the better of him.
Horrors such as those were reserved for the vampires in the media, most of whom died when the human’s destined lover burst in.
Andres slid his hand under Shane’s limp, delicate fingers and laid his index on the print-reader of his phone, hoping either it or the face recognition was enabled. The device unlocked, and at the top of Shane’s map app was the favorite place labeled ‘home’. Andres was almost—almost—disappointed.
5
SHANE
Shane was dead.
He wasprettysure he was dead, anyway, or at least near to it, because for some glorious, terrible reason, his mind had conjured him the sultry voice of his vampire, with strong hands and a gentle touch. Lace and leather pressed against his cheek, and his forehead brushed skin. He snuggled deeper into the sensation, and a soft, floral scent greeted him.
“We’re almost home,” his vampire whispered.
A light sprung on, faint and distant beyond his eyelids, and someone’s fingers intruded into his pocket—fuck? No, that was just his vampire, that was all right then. Keys rattled. Everything dimmed again at the sound of a door closing.
“My god, you live like this, my little swan?” his vampire muttered.
“Been… distracted.” Shane had been, hadn’t he? Distracted trying to find someone, someone who was now here. Which meant it had worked. Except he’d have much preferred it to work in reality and not whatever half-dead state of delirium he’d fallen into. “I keep meaning to—to—”
What were they talking about again? It didn’t seem terribly important anymore.
A soft, flat surface met his back, and the warmth of his vampire pulled away. “No,” Shane whimpered—whimpered—god, what was wrong with him? Blood loss, probably. Dying. Losing his mind. He felt his shoes tugged off, and for a moment he swore the faintest brush of fingers rested against the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up to the lip of his jeans.
