Lover Unbound

Chapter Nineteen

As John stood in the line in front of ZeroSum with Blay and Qhuinn, he was not happy and not comfortable. They'd been waiting to get into the club for, like, an hour and a half, and the only good thing was that the night wasn't so cold they froze their balls off.
"I'm so not getting any younger here." Qhuinn stomped his feet. "And I didn't dud up to play wallflower in this wait line."
John had to admit the guy looked tight tonight: black open-collared shirt, black trousers, black boots, black leather jacket. With his dark hair and his mismatched eyes, he was getting a lot of attention from the human females. For example, right now two brunettes and a redhead were strolling down the line, and what do you know, all three of them did a head snap as they went by Qhuinn. He was characteristically shameless as he stared back.
Blay cursed. "My man over here is going to be a menace, aren't you?"
"You'd better believe it." Qhuinn jacked up his pants. "I'm starving."
Blay shook his head, then scanned the street. He'd done this a number of times, his eyes sharp, his right hand in his jacket pocket. John knew what was in that palm of his: the grip of a nine. Blay was armed.
He'd said he'd gotten the gun from a cousin of his and it was all hush-hush. But then, it had to be. One of the rules of the training program was that you weren't supposed to carry when you were out and about. It was a good rule, built on the theory that a little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and trainees shouldn't front like they had half a brain when it came to fighting. Still, Blay had said he wasn't going downtown without some metal, and John had decided to pretend he didn't know what that bulge was about.
And there was also a little part of him that thought if they ran into Lash, it might not be a bad idea.
"Well, hey, ladies," Qhuinn said. "Where you off to?"
John glanced over. A pair of blondes were standing in front of Qhuinn, looking like his body was the candy counter at a movie theater and they were wondering whether to start with the Milk Duds or the Swedish Fish.
The one on the right, who had hair down to her ass and a skirt the size of a paper napkin, smiled. Her teeth were so white they gleamed like pearls. "We were going to Screamer's, but... if you're heading in here, we might change our plans."
"Make it easy on all of us and join us in line." He bowed, sweeping his arm in front of him.
The blonde looked at her friend, then pulled a little Betty Boop maneuver, hip and hair swinging. It looked well rehearsed. "I just love a gentleman."
"I'm one to my very core." Qhuinn held his hand out, and when the Betty took it, he pulled her into line. A couple of guys frowned, but one look from Qhuinn and they cut the crap, which was understandable. Qhuinn was taller and wider than them, a semi to their station wagons.
"This is Blay and John."
The girls beamed up at Blay, who flushed the color of his hair, then the two did a cursory pass over John. He got a quick pair of head nods and then the focus was back on his friends.
Putting his hands in the windbreaker he'd borrowed, he moved out of the way so Betty's friend could squeeze in next to Blay.
"John? You okay there?" Blay asked.
John nodded and looked at his friend, signing quickly, Just zoning out.
"Oh, my God," Betty said.
John shoved his hands back into his pockets. Shit, she'd no doubt noticed he'd used sign language, and this was going to go one of two ways: She'd either think he was cute. Or she'd pity him.
"Your watch is so hot!"
"Thank you, baby," Qhuinn said. "I just got it. Urban Outfitters."
Oh, right. She hadn't noticed John at all.
Twenty minutes later they finally made it up to the club's entrance, and it was a miracle John got in. The bouncers at the door surveyed his ID with everything but a proton microscope, and they were just starting to shake their heads when a third came up, took one look at Blay and Qhuinn, and let them all in.
Two feet past the door and John decided he wasn't into the scene. There were people everywhere, showing so much skin they might as well have been at the beach. And was that couple over there... shit, was that guy's hand up her skirt?
No, it was the hand of the guy behind her. The one she wasn't kissing.
All around, techno music blared, the shrill beats ringing through air that was stuffy with sweat and perfume and something musky that he suspected was sex. Lasers speared the dimness, evidently aiming right for his eyeballs, because wherever he looked they nailed him a good one.
He wished he had sunglasses and earplugs.
He glanced back at the coupleer, threesome. He wasn't sure, but the woman seemed to have her hands down both their pants.
How about a blindfold, too, he thought.
With Qhuinn in the lead, the five of them filed by a roped-off area that was guarded by bouncers the size of cars. On the other side of the steakhead barricade, separated from the riffraff by a wall of falling water, there were fancy people sitting in leather booths, the type who wore designer suits and no doubt drank liquor John couldn't pronounce.
Qhuinn headed for the back of the club like a homing pigeon, picking out a spot against the wall with a good view of the grinding on the floor and easy bar access. He took drink orders from the ladies and Blay, but John just shook his head. This was so not a good environment to get even slightly loose in.
All of it reminded him of the time before he'd come to live with the Brotherhood. When he'd been out in the world alone he'd been used to being the smallest one around, and man, that was true here. Everyone was taller than he was, the crowd looming over him, even the women. And it brought out all of his instincts. If you had few physical resources to protect yourself with, you had to rely on your twitchy senses: Two feet and hauling ass was the strategy that had always saved him.
Well, saved him except for that one time.
"God... you are so tight." In Qhuinn's absence, the girls were all over Blay, especially Betty, who seemed to think he was a stroking post.
Blay had no game, evidently, because he had no quick comeback. But he was definitely not brushing them off, letting Betty's hands go wherever they wanted.
Qhuinn sauntered over from the bar to the sound of brass balls clanging. Jesus, he was in his zone, two Coronas in each hand, eyes leveled on the girls. He moved like he was already having sex, his hips shifting with his stride, his shoulders doing the roll of a guy whose parts were in working order and ready to be used.
Man, the girls were eating that shit up, their eyes flaring as he came through the crowd.
"Ladies, I need a tip for my efforts." He slipped Blay one of the beers, took a swig of another, and held the other pair over his head. "Gimme a little of what I want."
Betty was on the ball, putting both her hands on his chest and stretching up. Qhuinn tilted his head a little, but didn't help her much. Which only made her work harder. As their lips met, Qhuinn's lifted into a smile... and reached out and pulled the other girl close. Betty didn't seem to mind in the slightest, and helped draw her friend in.
"Let's go to the bathroom," Betty stage-whispered.
Qhuinn leaned around Betty and laid a French kiss on her friend. "Blay? You want to join us?"
Blay threw back his beer, swallowing hard. "Nah, I'm going to hang out. Just want to chill."
His eyes called his bluff when they flipped to John for a split second.
Which pissed John off. I don't need a babysitter.
"I know, buddy."
The girls frowned as they hung from Qhuinn's shoulders like a set of drapes, as if John was being a buzz-kill drama queen. And they looked positively bitched when Qhuinn started to back off from them.
John pegged his buddy with hard eyes. Don't you fucking dare think of bailing. I will never speak to you again.
Betty cocked her head, her blond hair slipping over Qhuinn's forearm. "What's wrong?"
John signed, Tell her nothing is wrong and go get laid. I'm fucking serious, Qhuinn.
Qhuinn signed back, Don't feel right leaving you.
"Is something wrong?" Betty chirped.
If you don't go, I'm leaving. I will walk out of this club, Qhuinn. For real.
Qhuinn's eyes closed briefly. Then before Betty could something-wrong them all again, he said, "Let's go ladies. We'll be right back."
As Qhuinn pivoted around and the girls shimmied away with him, John signed, Blay, go get laid. I'll wait here. When his friend didn't reply, he sighed, Blay? Getcha ass going!
There was a moment's hesitation. "I can't."
Why?
"Because I... ah, I promised I wouldn't leave you."
John went cold. Promised who?
Blaylock's cheeks fired up bright as a traffic light. "Zsadist. Right after I went through the change, he took me aside after class and said that if we ever went out with you... you know."
Anger seeped into John's head and made his skull hum.
"Just until your change, John."
John shook his head, because that was what you did when you had no voice and you wanted to scream. In a rush, the pounding behind his eyes came back.
Tell you what, he signed. You're worried about me, give me your gun.
At that moment a smoking-hot brunette walked by in a bustier and a pair of pants that looked they'd been put on her with a Spackle trowel. Blay's eyes latched onto her and the air changed around him, his body throwing off heat.
Blay, what is going to happen to me here? Even if Lash brings it
"He's been banned from this club. That's why I wanted to come here."
How do you... Lemme guessZsadist. Did he tell you we could only come here?
"Maybe."
Give me the gun. Get moving.
The brunette took up res at the bar and looked over her shoulder. Right at Blay.
You aren't leaving me. We're both in the club. And I'm really getting pissed here.
There was a pause. Then the gun changed hands and Blay downed his beer like he was nervous as shit.
Good luck, John signed.
"Fuck, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not even sure I want to do this."
You do want to. And you'll figure it out. Now go before she finds someone else.
When John was finally alone, he leaned back against the wall and crossed his little ankles. Watching the crowd, he envied them.
Not long thereafter, a shock of recognition went through him, as if someone had called his name. He looked around, wondering if Blay or Qhuinn had hollered for him. Nope. Qhuinn and the blondes were nowhere to be seen, and Blay was cautiously leaning into the brunette at the bar.
Except he was sure someone was calling him.
John got serious about the looking, focusing on the crowd in front of him. There were people everywhere, and yet no one in particular around, and he was about to decide he was nuts when he saw a stranger he knew completely.
The female was standing in the shadows at the end of the bar, the pink and blue glow from the backlit liquor bottles barely illuminating her. Tall and built hard as a man, she had supershort dark hair and a don't-fuck-with-me face that announced loud and clear that you screwed with her at your own risk. Her eyes were lethally smart, fighter-serious and... leveled on him.
His body went into instant flip-out, like someone was buffing his skin to a high shine while spanking him with a two-by-four: He was instantly breathless and dizzy and flushed, but at least he forgot about his headache.
Sweet Jesus, she was coming over.
Her walk was one of power and confidence, like she was stalking prey, and men who weighed more than her got out of her way quick as mice. As she approached, John fumbled with his windbreaker, trying to make himself look more masculine. Which was such a joke.
Her voice was deep. "I'm security at this club, and I'm going to have to ask you to come with me."
She took his arm without waiting for a reply and led him into a dark hallway. Before he knew what was happening, she pushed him into what was obviously an interrogation room and nailed him to the wall like a velvet Elvis.
As her forearm pushed into his windpipe and he gasped, she patted him down. Her hand was fast and impersonal as it went over his chest and down to his hips.
John closed his eyes and shuddered. Holy shit, this was a turn-on. If he'd been able to get an erection, he was quite sure he'd be hammer-hard right now.
And then he remembered that Blay's unmarked gun was in the big back pocket of the pants he'd borrowed.
Shit.
In the equipment room at the compound, Jane sat down on the bench that would let her see the guy she'd operated on. She was waiting for V to finish his cigarette, and the faint whiff of his exotic tobacco tingled in her nose.
God, that dream of him. The way his hand moved between her
As an ache started, she crossed her legs and squeezed them together.
"Jane?"
She cleared her throat. "Yes?"
His voice was low as it drifted through the open door, a sensual, disembodied drawl. "What are you thinking about, Jane?"
Oh, yeah, right, like she was going to tell him that she was fantasizing
Wait a minute. "You already know, don't you?" When he was silent, she frowned. "Was that a dream? Or did you..."
No reply.
She leaned forward until she could see him through the jamb. He was exhaling while he tucked the butt into a bottle of water.
"What did you do to me?" she demanded.
He screwed the cap on tight, the muscles of his forearms flexing. "Nothing you didn't want me to."
Even though he wasn't looking at her, she pointed her finger at him like it was a gun. "I told you. Stay out of my head."
His eyes flipped to hers. Oh... God... they were burning white as stars, hot as the sun. The instant they hit her face her sex bloomed for him, a mouth opening wide, ready to be fed.
"No," she said, although she didn't know why she bothered. Her body spoke for itself, and he damn well knew it.
V's lips lifted in a hard smile, and he breathed in deeply. "I love your scent right now. Makes me want to do more than just get in your head."
Okaaaaaaay, evidently he liked women in addition to men.
Abruptly his expression faded. "But don't worry. I won't go there."
"Why not?" As the question popped out, Jane cursed herself. If you told a man you didn't want him, and then he said he wouldn't have sex with you, generally the reaction you wanted to lead with was not something that sounded like a protest.
V leaned in through the door and chucked the water bottle across the room. The thing landed in a trash bin with a decisive flare, as if it were returning home from a business trip and damn relieved to be back. "You wouldn't like it with me. Not really."
He was so wrong.
Shut up. "Why?"
Shit! For the love of God, what was she saying?
"You just wouldn't like it with the real me. But I was glad for what happened when you were sleeping. You felt perfect, Jane."
She wished he would stop using her name. Every time it left his lips she felt like he was reeling her in, dragging her through waters she didn't understand into a net she could only thrash about in until she hurt herself.
"Why wouldn't I like it?"
As his chest expanded, she knew he was smelling her arousal. "Because I like control, Jane. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"No, I don't."
He pivoted toward her, filling the doorway, and her eyes went right to his hips, traitors that they were. Holy shit, he was erect. Fully aroused. She could see the thick detail of him pushing against the flannel pajama bottoms he had on.
She swayed even though she was seated.
"Do you know what a Dom is?" he said in a low voice.
"Dom... as in..." Whoa. "Sexual dominant?"
He nodded his head. "That's how sex is with me."
Jane's lips parted and she had to look away. It was either that or she was going to combust. She had no experience with that whole alternative-lifestyle thing. Hell, she didn't have a lot of time for regular sex, much less to dabble in the fringes.
Damn her, but dangerous and wild with him seemed pretty fricking attractive right now. Although maybe that was because, for all intents and purposes, this was not real life, even though she was awake.
"What do you do?" she asked. "I mean do you... tie them up?"
"Yes."
She waited for him to go on. When he didn't, she whispered, "Anything else?"
"Yes."
"Tell me."
"No."
So there was pain involved, she thought. He hurt them before he fucked them. Probably during, too. And yet... she remembered him holding Red Sox in his arms so gently. Maybe with men it was different for him?
Terrific. A bisexual dominant vampire with kidnapping expertise. Man, she shouldn't feel like she did about him for so many reasons.
Jane covered her face with her hands, but unfortunately that only kept her from looking at him. It was no escape from what was going on in her head. She... wanted him.
"Goddamn it," she muttered.
"What's wrong."
"Nothing." God, she was such a liar.
"Liar."
Great, so he knew that, too. "I don't want to feel like I do right now, okay?"
There was a long pause. "And how do you feel, Jane?" When she said nothing, he murmured, "You don't like wanting me, do you. Is it because I'm a pervert?"
"Yes."
The word just shot out of her mouth, although it wasn't really the truth. If she was honest with herself, the problem was more than that... she'd always prided herself on her intelligence. Mind over emotion and logic-driven decision making had been the things that had never let her down. And yet here she was, coveting something that her instincts told her she'd be far, far better off without.
When there was a long silence, she dropped one of her hands and looked to the door. He wasn't standing between the jambs anymore, but she sensed he hadn't gone far. She leaned forward again and caught sight of him. He was up against the wall, staring across the gym's blue mats as if he were looking out over the sea.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Yeah, you did. But it's cool. I am what I am." His gloved hand flexed, and she had a feeling it was unconsciously.
"The truth is..." As she let the sentence go, one of his brows cocked, though he didn't look at her. She cleared her throat. "The truth is, serf-preservation is a good thing and it should dictate my reactions."
"And it doesn't?"
"Not... always. With you, not always."
His lips lifted a little. "Then for once in my life, I'm glad I'm different."
"I'm scared."
He grew instantly serious, his diamond-bright eyes meeting hers. "Don't be. I won't hurt you. And I won't let anything else either."
For a split second her defenses went down. "Promise?" she said hoarsely.
He put his gloved hand over the heart she'd fixed and spoke a beautiful rush of words she didn't understand. Then he translated: "On my honor and by the blood in my veins, I so avow myself."
Her eyes shifted away from him and unfortunately landed on a rack of nunchakus. The weapons hung on pegs, their black handles lying like arms off their chain shoulders, at the ready to do mortal damage.
"I've never been so scared in my life."
"Fuck... I'm sorry, Jane. Sorry about all this. And I will let you go. In fact, you're free to leave anytime you want now. You just say the word and I'll take you home."
She looked back at him and stared at his face. His beard had grown in around the goatee, shading his jaw and his cheekbones, making him look even more sinister. With those tattoos around his eye and his sheer size, if she'd run into him in an alley she would have fled in terror even without knowing he was a vampire.
And yet here she was, trusting him to keep her safe.
Were her feelings real? Or was she in fact knee-deep in Stockholm syndrome?
She traced his broad chest and his tight hips and his long legs. God, whichever one it was, she wanted him like nothing else.
He let out a soft growl. "Jane..."
"Shit."
He cursed too and then fired up his next cigarette. As he exhaled, he said, "There's another reason I can't be with you."
"Which is?"
"I bite, Jane. And I wouldn't be able to stop myself. Not with you."
She remembered from the dream the feel of his fangs going up her neck with a soft scratching. Her body flooded with heat even as she wondered how could she want such a thing.
V stepped back into the doorway, the cigarette in his gloved hand. Tendrils of smoke rose from the handrail's tip, thin and graceful as a woman's hair.
With their eyes locked, he took his free hand and ran it down his chest, down his belly, down to that heavy erection behind the thin flannel of the pajama bottoms. As he cupped himself, Jane swallowed hard, pure lust slamming into her linebacker style, hitting her so hard she nearly went off the bench.
"If you'll let me," he said quietly, "I'll find you again in your sleep. I'll find you and finish what I started. Would you like that, Jane? Would you like to come for me?"
From out of the PT room, a moan sounded.
Jane tripped as she got up from the bench and headed in to check on her newest patient. The escape was obvious, but whatevershe'd lost her mind so her pride was hardly a concern at this point.
On the gurney, Phury was twisting in pain, batting at the bandage on the side of his face.
"Hey... easy." She put her hand on his arm, stopping him. "Easy. You're okay."
She stroked his shoulder and talked to him until he settled down on a shudder.
"Bella..." he said.
Well aware that V was standing in the corner, she asked, "Is that his wife?"
"His twin's wife."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Jane got a stethoscope and the blood pressure cuff and did a quick vitals check. "Does your kind normally run low for BP?"
"Yeah. Heart rate, too."
She put her hand on Phury's forehead. "He's warm. But your core temperature's higher than ours, right?"
"It is."
She let her fingers drift into Phury's multicolored hair and ran through the thick waves, smoothing the tangles out. There was some kind of black oily substance in it
"Don't touch that," V said.
She whipped her arm back. "Why? What is it?"
"The blood of my enemies. I don't want it on you." He strode over, took her by the wrist, and led her to the sink.
Although it went against her nature, she stood still and obedient as a child as he soaped up her hands and washed them off. The feel of both his bare palm and his leather glove slipping over her fingers... and the suds lubricating the friction... and the heat of him seeping into her and running up her arm made her reckless.
"Yes," she said as she stared down at what he was doing.
"Yes, what?"
"Come to me again in my sleep."