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  Gryph snorted. “I think you are the one who is treating him poorly.”

  Remy headed over toward the door, toward the bat. “Y’all is bastards. All of you. I’m gonna beat you both. All three. Whatever.”

  Three sets of hands reached for Remy, but it was the big one who got him, pulling him in and shielding him from both Boo and Gryph. Holding him close, like a lover. It made Gryph want to tear his eyes out.

  “Hush, babe,” the boss said. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

  “Can’t we go home, me and you, boss? My chickens are all scattered.” Those dark eyes kept sliding back over to Gryph, again and again.

  “I don’t think that is possible, sweet,” Gryph said, feeling for his little Cajun. Poor lad. He was the only one who didn’t know what was going on.

  “You ain’t got nothing to do with this, yeah?” Remy’s eyes fastened to his as he swallowed.

  The young one went over to his Cajun, shook Remy a bit. “Rem? Man? You okay?”

  Remy all but crawled up the big man to get away from those eyes and teeth, and the boss growled. “Vance. Back off, babe. You keep looking at him like he’s lunch.”

  “I can’t help it. He smells so good. I won’t hurt you, Remy. I swear.”

  “Uh-huh. No biting, and I mean it.” Gryph could smell the panic on Remy’s skin, and it made him snarl.

  His muscles tensed, and he rushed at them all, tearing Remy out of the big man’s grip, sending the new baby flying. “No one bites him but me!”

  Remy curled around him, body holding on, clinging even though he knew his sweet Cajun didn’t understand.

  “I’ve got you, sweet.” Gryph turned, avoiding a lunge from the big one, flashing his fangs. “Stop. We’ll talk. But only if you control your progeny.”

  “Hey! I’m not a bad guy!”

  Remy groaned. “Shit, y’all are making my head hurt.”

  The big one rolled his eyes. “I’m Clay. This is Vance. I gotta say, if you’ve charmed him, I’ll kick your ass.”

  “Man, how many bloodsuckers can charm one man?” The newborn blinked over, slowly standing up. “You’ll scramble his brains.”

  “Like yours have been, you newborn?”

  Clay snarled at him again, moving toward him, but he stared over Remy’s head and the man stopped halfway.

  “Let him go,” Clay said. “We’ll talk.”

  It would probably be an inappropriate time to point out that Remy was holding on to him as if he was the only solid thing in the whole world. Gryph was going to do so anyway. “When he asks, I will. Now, shall we pretend we’re more civilized than we are? What are you doing on my territory?”

  Remy relaxed, eased against him as the tension ratcheted down a bit. Gryph sat, wrapping his arms around the sweet one, kissing his cheek. The other two watched him, bright-eyed and tense, but willing to talk, it looked like.

  “We’re here because someone was hunting us,” Clay finally said.

  “You have to know the Colonel. You’re too close not to know of him.” The newborn was strong, scarred, hungry.

  “We ain’t here to cause you trouble, now….” Remy blinked, sat up suddenly. “I need pants. And to turn the water off.”

  “Here, have a sheet.” Clay came over and yanked a sheet off the other bed, then waved at Vance to go turn off the water. Vance snapped, growled, but went. Remy curled up, that dark skin hidden in the sheet. Hidden from him.

  Gryph slid a hand down Remy’s back, smoothing the sheet away for a moment before tucking it back around the man. “I do not know the Colonel personally, you know.”

  “Well, I do.” Interesting, the sudden, cold, raw fury that the newborn had. “I know him, and I’m going to rip his motherfucking throat out and watch him drain.”

  “Oh. Well, good luck to you, love.” Really. That would save him the trouble of much of the sneaking around he had to do.

  “Thanks. So, you know we’re not here to fuck with you. You tell Clay there you aren’t here to fuck with us, leave the Cajun the fuck alone, and we’re all good.”

  “I cannot do that. Remy is mine.” It was undeniable, odd as it was. The man’s scent was addictive.

  “Bullshit,” Clay said, crossing his arms and staring. “He goes with us.”

  “Do you know him?” Did the baby know anything? Did the elder not teach him anything?

  “I do now. Deep inside.” He could almost hear Remy’s thoughts. It would not take much to be able to read them all the time. That was rare.

  “He didn’t bite me, boss, I swear.” Remy stood up, tanned skin gone pale. “I didn’t let nobody bite me.”

  Clay took Remy’s hand again, drawing him away, and it was all Gryph could do to contain his white-hot rage. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. “If you want the Colonel, he’s moved to his summer home. He has a place in the North Carolina mountains. It’s not far, but it is well protected. Give me the Cajun.”

  “I ain’t property.” No. No, but those dark eyes were fastened on him, clinging. Begging.

  “Then you choose, sweet. Come with me.” There. He had asked. He had not asked any man to stay with him since Alain, back in… well, corsets were still cone-shaped.

  “Oh.” Remy rippled, staring at him, a wet spot growing on the sheet.

  “Fuck, Rem….” The newborn pounced, moaning like a slavering beast.

  Several things happened all at once. Remy rolled away, wrapping up in the sheet like an outré mummy. Clay lunged and grabbed at Vance, swinging those bared fangs about and nearly impaling himself upon them. And Gryphon grabbed Remy under his arm like one of those American footballs and ran for the door….

  Sadly, the sun was starting to creep above the horizon, and he was forced to slam the door shut again.

  Damnation.

  “Lemme go. I swear, I’m gonna leave you three in here and take the truck to Baton Rouge. Jus’ me. And there won’t be nobody to fetch you bags of blood for a noontime snack!”

  Gryphon let go. “You’re wearing a sheet, sweet. You might think of changing.”

  Remy stared at him, mouth opening and closing, and opening and closing, over and over. “My momma told me to go to church and go into business with good folks. I shoulda listened.”

  Remy kicked Vance’s hand as the little man stomped by, tugging on a pair of jeans and a shirt two sizes too big. “I’m going for a walk. Stay outta dat bathroom. Fuckin’ window’s open.”

  Well, that had been the best choice, he hoped. A walk was not leaving, and his sweet cared enough to remind him about the window. “Come back soon, sweet. Don’t leave me alone with them too long.”

  “Bah.” Remy stormed out, muttering about crazy fucking bloodsuckers and goddamn South Carolina and something that sounded vaguely like beignets.

  Gryphon watched him go, knowing he’d be back. He glanced over at the other two, who were locked in a kiss that would have made him sweat if he could.

  He could only hope Remy would be back soon.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  OKAY, ON the grand scale of deep fuckupedness, Vance figured they’d just fallen off the deep end.

  He sat on the side of the bed, half listening to Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dumber snarl and snap at each other about Rem and territories and whose dick was bigger and all that shit. They were both strong, their rage vibrating in the air and along his nerves.

  Okay, so. He was dead, but not. And a bloodsucker, which would explain the whole hungry thing. And the Colonel was close and a little porker, and if Vance found him, that would fix the murderous enemy thing and the whole “I’m going to chew off someone’s arm” thing in one fell swoop.

  Although he’d bet the Colonel was bad for the cholesterol.

  Did bloodsuckers worry about cholesterol?

  Man, he needed a fucking beer.

  Okay, back to facts. Remy had lost his mind.

  Clay was all committed to this whole pissing contest with the new guy, who seemed to really be an old guy, and h
e was glad he wasn’t hunting away, because between Clay and Old Man Hunter, he’d be fucked and sucked.

  And not in the fun, spanky way.

  Clay whirled on him, eyes flashing, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Goddamn it, baby, would you quit thinking so loud?”

  “Uh. Maybe?” How exactly did someone think quiet?

  The new guy laughed right out loud, and Clay turned on a dime, whapping the man right in the nose. Damn.

  He headed over to grab a beer out of Remy’s cooler as they fought. Clay looked good. Hot. The other dude hit like a girl, sort of. Of course, the other guy could dance out of the way of Clay’s blows like Valentino doing a tango. So maybe that girly thing was useful.

  He popped the top of the Bud, gagging as soon as the beer hit his throat. “Jesus fucking Christ! What’s wrong with this shit?”

  “I fear you’ll find it distasteful, youngster.” That came from the old dude, who dodged and weaved, even as Clay turned away and left him hanging for a fight, coming over to Vance.

  “It’s not what you need, honey, that’s all.”

  “Nobody ever needs a beer, man.” He smelled the bottle, nose wrinkling. That was fucking unnatural.

  “Well, yes. But you’re hungry. If you’re satiated, you can tolerate regular food and alcohol….”

  He set the bottle aside, sighing. Hungry.

  Fuck.

  Well, he’d get to eat the Colonel soon.

  Clay touched the side of his face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “We’ll hunt soon. Maybe we could eat the old guy here.”

  He snorted a little but fucking leaned into the touch. He was a sap. “Remy smells better.”

  “That would be because he’s alive, baby.”

  “How touching.” The old guy stretched out on the bed. “God save me from being trapped in here with you two.”

  “I could shove you in the bathroom for a few hours.”

  Christ. Dead. He was dead. That was deeply fucked-up. The urge to just open the hotel door and look at the sun was huge.

  “Mine.” He wasn’t sure if that was out loud or in his head, but he heard it clear as day. “No sun.”

  He met Clay’s eyes, almost hearing the click of connection between them. His nerves hummed with it, everything burning. Okay. Okay, freaky, but damned good. Clay moaned, kissing him hard, teeth stinging his lower lip. God, that man could make him forget everything.

  He reached out, fingers sliding up into Clay’s hair to hold them together. This was ultimately easier than thinking. Everything else just went away, from the old vamp watching them to the smell Remy left behind to the whole dead thing. All there was left was Clay.

  The kiss kept on and on, and goddamn, not having to break to breathe? Fucking amazing. He approved. Clay moved them, putting them someplace horizontal. He wasn’t sure where, because the bed had that other guy on it….

  It didn’t matter once he got down, Clay hard and heavy above him, teeth teasing and sliding and trying to make him crazed. Somehow or another they got naked. Had they been naked before? He couldn’t remember. He sure could feel the sting of Clay’s teeth, though. He moaned and stretched for the bite, for that mouth. It was a fucking addiction, worse than any drug.

  “God, honey. Need you more every fucking day.” Clay bit him again, mouth open on his skin, tongue tasting him over and over.

  “Got me. More, man.” He heard the soft laughter of the dude on the bed, the sound almost—almost—distracting.

  So Clay gave him more, humping like a naughty puppy, cock hard and wet against him. Those hands dug against his hips, yanking him up harder and harder. His balls ached—whether from need or overuse, he wasn’t sure—but he felt them throb.

  Clay reached right down and cupped them in one hand, grinning wildly at him. Oh, Jesus fuck, that felt good. That pressure increased, Clay knowing just how hard to push, when to ease up to make him insane. Those teeth never let up, even when the hand did. He was gonna look like a fucking pincushion, the way Clay was gnawing on him.

  “Jesus. Clay. Come on, quit teasing.” He needed to come, needed to eat. Needed Clay. Right now.

  “Yeah, honey. Yeah.” Clay quit teasing, pushing back behind his balls to press the tiny strip of skin there. And that mouth. Clay really bit down, started drinking, offering himself up too.

  He bit down, bore down, taking Clay in. Fuck, that was…. He…. Addiction. Pure need.

  Arching, Clay humped against him, hips rocking and rolling. He knew this now, knew this rhythm, knew this need. He gave himself over to it, lost and found all at once. Right where he needed to be. They fell over the edge together, both of them all but howling with it, Clay’s voice ringing off the fucking rafters for him.

  “You know. I wouldn’ta come back with food, if I thought you two would be going after it again.” Remy’s voice barely cut through the buzz, two sacks hitting the floor with a thud. “Enjoy.”

  Clay raised his head. “We were done.” He got a slow kiss before Clay pulled away a little, smiling at Remy. “Feel better, babe?”

  “I’m fucking sleepy. I need a nap.”

  Vance looked over. Yeah. Remy looked bitchy. Sort of tasty, but he figured it was a bad time to mention that.

  “Okay. We’d clear out if we could. You know we can’t….” Clay shook his head. “Want me to remove the oldie but goodie so you can have the bed?”

  Remy looked over at the old guy. “Where’s he gonna go?”

  Then Remy crawled up on the bed and plopped down, asleep before his head hit the pillow. Shit, the guy still had his boots on.

  It was kinda like watching a hound dog on a sunny porch.

  Especially when the lanky vamp started petting that stubby back. Lord, Lord, that was gonna make Clay growly.

  He went for distracting, as his balls were still aching and he needed his sleep too.

  Clay blinked at him, eyes a touch wild. “What, baby? You hungry? I think Rem brought us some…. Well, he brought enough for three.”

  “I….” Oh man. Blood. In a bag. He…. He wasn’t ready for that. Not that hungry. “You go ahead. I’m going to rest. I have to go find the Colonel.”

  “No, you need to eat. Come on, I’ll share.”

  “Haven’t you taught him a thing?” That came from the great snide one, who was getting on his last nerve.

  “What? Is there some grand high bloodsucker manual? It’s not like we’ve been living the slow life.” Wait, was that irony?

  “There’s a manual?” Clay’s eyebrows went almost to his hairline, and that redneck Southern boy accent went deep and hard. “Well, paint my ass red and take me to the circus. Who knew?”

  Now, he might not know irony, but sarcasm?

  That Vance understood.

  “We’ll have to ask around, see what printing it’s on. Maybe Remy can read it to us, like a bedtime story.”

  “There you go. We could snuggle up, have some blood, just really make it homey.”

  The old guy sneered. “Hand me a bag, will you? I might as well eat.”

  “Yeah, I don’t see Clay letting you have Rem. He’s handy with a bat and one hell of a getaway driver.” He grabbed a bag, tossed it over, trying to decide if that sound his stomach made was from revulsion or starvation.

  “Come on, honey. Eat. It will make you feel better, I swear.” Clay had never lied to him.

  “I….” He met Clay’s eyes, staring into all that dark. He wasn’t ready for this shit. He’d do it and he’d fucking cope, but he so wasn’t ready.

  “I know, honey. I do.” Clay reached up and stroked his cheek, a world of promise in that stare. “I know.”

  It didn’t make it right, but that touch made it easier, and that was enough. He’d take it.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  REMY HADN’T never dreamed so much his whole life. He dreamed about fighting and fucking and drinking ’til his lips were numb and the world went topsy-turvy. He dreamed about swinging his bat and sharp teeth and running like hell.
Running so fucking long that he forgot if he was running away from or running toward.

  Lord.

  ’Course, every time he floated up from dreaming, something eased him back down, let him rest good and hard like he needed to. When he finally did manage to convince his stupid eyes to open up, they stared right into Gryphon’s. Goddamn.

  “Well, there you are. Did you have a good sleep, sweet?” Those eyes were damned pretty. Really. Deep.

  “Mm-hmm.” He nodded, stretched, caught up sure as anything. “Stop that, now. I ain’t looking to be all charmy and shit.”

  “Not charming you, sweet. I’ve eaten and slept myself, and am ready to begin wooing.” That mouth pressed right down on his, light and kinda sweet. A little minty.

  Wooing?

  Him?

  Hell, he was usually pretty happy with a hand job and a case of beer….

  Of course, that kiss sort of caught him up, and he found himself breathing with it, following those lips. One hand cradled the back of his head, Gryphon turning his head from one side to the other so their lips could slide back and forth. Somewhere he’d lost his boots and his jeans and they sort of got their legs tangled together. He moaned, especially when Gryphon’s fingers found a sore spot on his neck. Damn.

  “So tense. You need to think more carefully about your companions.” He was about to get all bristly, but that grin told him that the guy actually had a sense of humor.

  “You keep that up, I’ll have to come to beat you ’gain.” Lord, he was tired of having a fight.

  “Shhh. No beating. Just resting. Your friends are finally dead to the world, hmmm? That gives you some time to just lie down and be with me.” That hand…. God, that felt good, sweeping down his back.

  “Mmm. I…. You got a sweet touch. Douce, yeah?” The endearment came to him, way back in the back of his brain where his Nannan’s voice still echoed a little, all smoky and low.

  “I enjoy touching you, sweet. I truly do. You have fascinating skin.” Oh. Oh Lord. That touch lingered on his hip, fingers stroking.

  “I figure this is a bad idea.” Bad.

  Real bad.