“A bit.” His mouth was so near Mercer’s pulse suddenly that Mercer could feel it in his whole being.
He had to close his eyes to stop it from overwhelming him, to pretend they weren’t so near, and this wasn’t so real. He managed, still, to whisper, “Then all right.”
“You’re sure?” Rahil whispered back.
It felt like a thousand butterflies had been set loose inside Mercer. “Just once. As a thank you,” he lied. It was not a thank you, it was ayou’re welcome, and with the way he was yearning, it might just be ayou are welcome forever, if only to his blood.
Not his heart—though he was pretty sure Rahil had seen the whole of it while sitting there—and not his body, as much as he would surely relish this moment in his wet dreams, but simply his blood. Mercer could spare that.
“All right,” Rahil murmured.
And he did not sink in his fangs.
Instead, it was his lips, soft and warm, and his hand cupping the other side of Mercer’s neck, and his presence around Mercer like a shelter—a protector—and then, finally, the prick of teeth. Mercer had been imagining a sharp pain, followed by something nice, something tingling and warm, but what he received wasn’t sharp at all, just pressure and pleasure, so gentle that he felt himself leaning into it, pressing his flesh up against Rahil’s teeth.
Rahil moaned. His hand on Mercer’s neck tightened and he worked his mouth in methodical drags that made the sensations cascading through Mercer’s body thrum beautifully, rising and falling like a dance. As he basked in the flow of the venom and the nearness of Rahil’s body, he found himself playing with Rahil’s loose hair, drawing fingers through the long locks and smiling as Rahil shivered beneath his touch.
“You are lovely at this,” Mercer whispered, the agony of his migraine fully obliterated, if only for the moment. “It’s much better than your flirting.”
Rahil pulled his fangs free to mutter, “Oh, fuck off.” But he sounded utterly attentive, like all that terrible teasing had tuned his desires to Mercer’s. He certainly seemed perfectly in sync with Mercer’s wants, Rahil’s body supple as putty, curled against him.
Mercer could feel the prick in his neck beginning to ooze warm blood, but as Rahil leaned back in, he caught the vampire’s jaw in his hand. Gently, Mercer rolled his thumb along Rahil’s lip and traced the long, sharp length of his fang. The tip was still pink, the diluted hue saturating Rahil’s mouth.
“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you never feel the need to hide these,” he murmured.
Rahil’s expression deepened into a look of such pride and longing that Mercer moved his finger on instinct, cupping the underside of Rahil’s fang and pressing up until a slight pinch gave way to bliss. Rahil moaned, sucking gently for a long, heavenly moment before Mercer let him drag his tongue over the wound to close it.
“Your neck is still bleeding, babe,” he whispered against the pad of Mercer’s thumb, nuzzling gently.
The term of affection took a moment to register, the tone of it fitting like a missing puzzle piece into the collage of the thousand times Leah had said it. As it clicked into place, Mercer felt himself stiffen. Everything flooded back: nausea, pain, tension, dizziness.
Rahil mirrored the action, both of them still and taut. They felt so close suddenly, so much of Rahil touching so much of Mercer that it made a metallic rush of shame bloom in the back of Mercer’s throat. He didn’t know whether to lean back or to—to—what other option was there?
To say,finish me off, babe?
The thought made Mercer even more nauseous.
But before he could choose to do anything, Rahil was sliding away from him, one hand rubbing his own neck—the same place where Mercer still bled. “It just came out, I’m sorry.”
Oh God, Mercer hated seeing him like this. He swallowed, trying to find a way to bail without making Rahil feel so damned sad in the process. “No, I—I’m sure you’re used to saying that to the men you bite. I get it.”
That did somethingworsethough, Rahil’s expression sinking into a desperate melancholy. “I…”
One of them shifted—one or both, Mercer didn’t know—and Leah’s notebook toppled off the bed. It flopped open to the last page, spilling out a picture that Leah had tucked inside the back flap: her short red curls a mess from the beach wind, swirling across her cheek as she turned her face into the crook of Mercer’s neck, one hand lifting to block the camera. She never had been a fan of pretentious, staged photos. He’d always joked about taking them and she’d always laughed and hidden, like it was a game to see how blurry and silly she could make things.
He had nearly forgotten that day. Nearly forgotten how happy they’d been.
Rahil’s fingers twitched toward the picture. “That’s… her?”
“Leah, yeah.” Even with her face hidden from the camera, the sight of her, smiling and alive and in love with him, made Mercer feel all the more ashamed, all the more like he’d just done something terrible.
He’d let Rahil call him babe… and then pushed him away for it, denying them both something that was clearly good for them. If Leah could see him now, she’d have punched him in the shoulder and told him to stop breaking hearts already, and that included his own. Maybe he was allowed to have swiped right after all…
But Rahil was already standing, one step back and then the next, his eyes glued to the picture of Mercer’s late wife. He didn’t look like he’d seen the same ghost Mercer had.Hishad teeth.
21
RAHIL
