And here Mercer had a vampire whose body was predisposed for that exact thing. If Mercer could figure out why, and reverse engineer the effect…
“All right,” he said.
Rahil’s brows shot up. “You’re serious?”
“Deadly. No pun intended.” Mercer gave his holy silver charm a little toss before setting it back on the notebook. “But if you stay, you’re helping me.”
“Oh good! There’s a few things you’re working on that I’ve been dying to try out.” Rahil winked, his gaze going toward the more kinky projects in the shed.
Mercer smiled. “Not like that.”
Before his victim could protest, he drew out his phone and reactivated Leah’s trap.
9
RAHIL
Rahil had not expected this.
To be fair, he hadn’t really knownwhatto expect when he’d decided to tangle himself back up in Merc’s life without asking, but having the bulky man’s large hand wrapping delicately around his wrist was not it. His heart did an absurd little dance, thud-thudding against his ribcage so fast it made him dizzy. Merc’s scent wafted lightly throughout his shed—the rich tones of churned earth and the nuttiness of baking breads—but it washed over Rahil like an intoxicant as the man stepped into his space.
Rahil could do nothing but sigh, letting Merc lift his wrist above his head, Merc’s face so near, the lushness of his lips and the exposed side of his neck so close. He seemed not to even notice the effect of his breath on Rahil as he focused on Rahil’s hand until—
The cold, smooth skin of Merc’s trap-cords slid around Rahil’s wrist, taking the place of Merc’s warm fingers as he pulled back. Its path continued, snaking across Rahil’s shoulders and chest in an X that seemed more decorative than useful until Rahil leaned against it, and it tightened into place, nearly lifting him onto the tips of his toes with one arm bound behind his head. His heart thrummed even faster, and an awkward laugh bubbled out of him as his mind fought between fear and desire.
He trusted Merc. Hethoughthe trusted Merc, but he worried now that perhaps what he’d trusted in was his own inability to care whether Merc was trustworthy or not so long as he touched Rahil in some capacity. Either way, he wouldn’t let Merc know that his palms were sweating again. Rahil grinned, wiggling the fingers of his bound hand experimentally.
“Kinky,” he said, somewhere on the edge between coyness and sexual harassment. “Have you always been this interested in bondage?”
Merc just stared at him, unfazed. “It’s to keep you from messing with anything you shouldn’t while I work.”
Rahil felt like there was more to it than just that—but he figured themorewas probably just to fuck with him. He’d made it particularly easy. And he wasn’t exactly complaining. If he wasn’t going to be fucked, at least he could be fuckedwith.
Merc pulled over a small rolling counter and slid it in front of Rahil. Rahil lifted a brow at him, receiving nothing in response.Thatwas almost a response in itself though—a frustrating but delightful one. After so many years focusing on the kind of people who would show him just how much they were enjoying his body in the moment, then throw him out the instant that pleasure passed, this stoic resistance felt like a breath of fresh air.
Even if Rahil had no hope of it actually going anywhere.
Except maybe a grave in the woods, based on the way Merc was eyeing his other wrist.
“So um, whatareyou planning to do to me?” Rahil playfully tried to tug his hand out of Merc’s reach, but Merc just waited for him to stop moving and smoothly caught him with a thumb and first-finger.
His gaze met Rahil’s as he held onto him, one brow lifting slightly. “Anything I want—that’s what you signed up for, after all.”
“To my ever-growing remorse,” Rahil lied. It was a lie, indeed—he could tell by the way his own body eased into Merc’s touch despite himself. Goddamn this man’s ability to make Rahil want to lay down his life for one more brush of skin. It was stupid, he knew. Stupid, and senseless, and with each gentle pressure as Merc laid Rahil’s arm across the table and bound it there using three of his trap’s silver cords, Rahil could not deny that the simple act of such nonsexual touch was turning something deep in his soul. Rahil relaxed into his bindings, tipping his head lazily as he watched Merc collect a variety of instruments along the other side of the mobile counter, including one small knife that looked sharp enough to cut an arm off if Merc set his mind to it. “Are you certain you’re not a serial killer after all?”
Merc did not confirm or deny it, but his lips quirked up on one side. He flashed his attention to Rahil and then back to his work, before saying, “Has anyone told you that you’re very calm for someone contemplating a terrible death?”
“All the time.” Rahil readjusted as much as he was capable of in his bonds, which turned out to be very little. “But really, whatareyou doing?”
“I’m trying to figure out why you react the way you do to holy silver.”
That caught Rahil off guard, in both the best and worst way. Merc was not only a craftsman, but a scientist of sorts, casting Rahil as his experiment, his project. But that project also involved holy silver. Rahil flinched involuntarily, nearly moving his arm out of Merc’s touch before the cords caught it.
Merc’s hand withdrew, concern flashing across his features. “Rahil,” he said softly, “I’m not in the business of hurting anyone. Not anymore.”
“You’ve said that.” Rahil wanted to believe him, too. His body betrayed him, though, tightening uncomfortably beneath bonds that had felt stabilizing only moments before. While his fangs were always out, he could sense them now in a way he couldn’t normally, like his brain was reminding him that he had points at the ends of his teeth for a reason. “I—I don’t know—” he began.
“I’ll stop now if you’re uncomfortable,” Merc cut in.
