Page 31 of How to Bare Your Neck and Save a Wreck
“He found me,” Shane admitted.
Mercer said nothing to that. His biceps strained beneath his tight t-shirt as he shoved open the sliding door like it weighed a ton—perhaps literally—revealing a darkened interior.
“Please don’t hate me,” Shane’s vampire whispered, lips brushing Shane’s ear.
“How comforting.” Shane almost wished he did hate his vampire—or even just feared him properly. That, at least, would make so much more sense.
Mercer flipped a switch on the shed’s wall.
Bright white lights illuminated the wide space, revealing a series of tables and instruments, hanging tools along one wall and supplies of metal and wood and gems in cases against another. Something that Shane could only describe as a furnace had been built out of the back, open windows on all sides. And the shop was most certainly in use. A dozen different projects lay about, spaced perfectly into tape-designated workspaces or laying atop velvet cushions, each unique and lovely and at least partially metal.
Shane pressed his fingers to his lips. Whatever his vampire was intent on ordering here, it would certainly be beautiful. He glanced at Mercer and motioned to the tables. “May I?”
The smith nodded. “Just don’t touch anything.”
“Go on,” his vampire added, like Shane needed his permission. Or perhaps just as an encouragement. Fuck, with that voice of his, so smooth and sultry like he was a moment away from kissing Shane’s throat or commanding his complete submission, Shane couldn’t tell.
He dipped his head and stepped between the tables. His gaze swept across the smith’s creations, jewelry and figurines, armor and weapons. A little sculpted wizard boasted an opal as the top of her staff. A set of the most delicate knives were halfway through having silver vinery worked up their hilts. Beside them lay a silver rocket-shaped piece with textured ridges and an elegantly fashioned base that was so ornate it took Shane a moment to realize its purpose, though not much longer than that to imagine it. He felt his cheeks warm and avoided his vampire’s gaze.
Oddly, his second impulse was to tell Andres how he’d rate them all, ordered by practicality—what use were knives that dainty, really?—and beauty—why put so much detail into something that would be hidden in a toy box when it wasn’t pressed into the dark, tight space it was made for? It felt rude to pull his phone out, but he memorized everything as he moved. He’d text it all to Andres in delicious detail later. Right before losing himself to very specific fantasies involving a few of these objects and a bed that wasn’t his.
Behind him, his vampire and Mercer spoke in casual tones.
“You’d mentioned on the phone,” the smith was saying, “that you wanted openings for your fangs. Were you thinking little custom-sized tooth gaps, or a segment large enough for your full mouth?”
Fang gaps.
A tremble ran down Shane’s spine. Even after so many of his vampire’s blissful bites, with a stranger in the room his mind suddenly jumped to the claustrophobic feeling of being heldin place while Maul’s goons sunk their teeth into him. But he trusted that his vampire wouldn’t let anyone else bite him. Custom-sized sounded incredibly specific. Whatever he was having the smith build, if it wasforShane, then it was meant for his vampire’s personal feeding.
A shiver ran up Shane’s spine and suddenly he could feel the pulse of his own blood through his neck like a heartbeat. This couldn’t possibly be about Tara Williams. Perhaps Shane’s vampire had also been thinking too long and hard on the state he’d told Maul he was holding Shane in. Perhaps he’d decided to act on that.
Shane thought of chains and his body rushed hot and cold. He slipped a hand against the edge of the table to keep himself standing. His vampire had brought him here, introduced him to the very person who would be constructing these. That couldn’t be standard procedure forsuddenly locking up your human. And now, after so many days? None of that added up—it just didn’t. But he couldn’t get the thought out of his head, the way it settled between his legs and tingled up his spine and fluttered, unwarranted, in his stomach.
And all the while, his vampire and the smith were still plotting.
“What’s the difference, practically speaking?” Shane’s vampire asked.
“Well, let’s put it this way: is it just the act of sinking fangs into your human that you want—whether you’re both after the pain or the envenomation or a combination of the two—or is it the full feeding experience? Some couples find the custom-sized fang openings attribute a stronger sense of ownership, especially if this is the only skin your human’s showing with optimal vein-contact, but as you can imagine, a mouth full of metal isn’t practical to actually feed through.”
Ownership.
“Yes, right, that makes sense,” his vampire replied.
Wait, somecouples?Shane’s mind snapped back to their introduction.Oh.Did Mercer think they weretogether? It wasn’t an entirely incorrect assumption. Shane had bundled up all the feelings his near-constant texting with Andres had been trying so aggressively to spark in him for the sole reason that hewasalready claimed, if in the oddest, least socially acceptable way possible.
And now the vampire who’d claimed him was buying him something withfang gaps.
“I’d like to still be able to take a full meal from him, so the larger spaces would be preferable.” His vampire glanced back at Shane, his lips tight and thoughtful.
“Alrighty.” Mercer jotted in a notebook. “You were thinking five pieces, so I assume you want a gap for each traditional vein access point? I’ll need measurements too if…” His gaze shifted to Shane, brows lifting.
“Come to me.” His vampire uttered it like a command, dark and sweet in a way that brushed across Shane’s skin and fluttered deep in his chest.
He should have been put off by it—his vampire, ordering him around in front of people, like he owned Shane’s whole being instead of just the blood he’d bought without Shane’s consent—but goddamn him for wearing that sheer lace beneath his long coat and looking at Shane through the slits in his mask of blood-red whirls with such a wreckage of desire and admiration and confidence. Shane found his feet moving, his head dipping obediently. His cheeks burned.
He shot his vampire a scowl as he stopped in front of him and grumbled, “I’m here.” Shanewashere. For better or worse, it seemed.
His vampire maneuvered him using a few gentle nudges, positioning Shane’s back to his chest as they’d done so manytimes before, not quite touching, but so close that it felt like a promise pricking along Shane’s skin. “Thank you, my pet,” he murmured in a voice that poured like molten gold through Shane’s chest. His breath hovered over Shane’s pulse. His fingers seemed unsure whether to start tipping Shane’s chin or fiddling with his hair. Finally he murmured, “Lay your head back for me.”
