“I know you want to fuck me.”

Peyton looked up as the human woman addressed him, and it took him a couple of seconds to focus on her—then again, Ice Blue, the club he usually hit, was hoppin’, the music was loud, and he’d done half a dozen bong hits before he started drinking.

Oh, and then you had the blue lasers spearing through the smoky air and the fact that he hadn’t slept properly for a day or two.

“Did you hear what I said?” she purred.

She was dressed in a skintight white latex dress that was cut low to show off her spectacular breasts and hemmed high to give plenty of leg. The shoes were strappy and tilted her delicate feet so far forward, it was like she was en pointe, and her hair was dark and flowing in curls around her shoulders and her lower back.

In the VIP section, she was hands down, going away, the trophy of the night, the most erotic, beautiful thing there was, and she wanted him. Why? It was not his scintillating conversation—they hadn’t said anything more than a quick hi-how’re-ya. Hell, he didn’t know his name—

Her name. He didn’t know her name.

No, it was his suit-and-tie. His ostrich shoes. The fact that he and his crew had come in the back where they didn’t have to worry about getting said shoes ruined by the snow or being inconvenienced by the wait line. It was also the bottle service here in this private banquet, and the way security deferred to him, and the hundys he flashed around as drinks were brought over. He was an apex spender and she was prepared to use her physical assets to get on the money train.

And hey, he was wearing white, too, so it was, like, totally, predestined.

“Let’s take a selfie,” she said as she straddled his legs and took her phone out of a bag that was only big enough for an iPhone. The small-sized one, not the big-as-a-Pop-Tart variety.

“No.” He put his palm out. “No pictures.”

She giggled and put the phone away. “You telling me you’re famous? I don’t recognize you.”

With practiced ease, she took his hand and guided it to her hip. “I’m up from Manhattan. I’m doing a photo shoot down by the river tomorrow. I hate the cold. I wish I were in Miami.”

At that, she pushed her hair out of the way in a very calculated, Oh, I’m soooo dissatisfied by my glamorous lot in life—and b.t.dub, my hair is just such a buuuuurden.

It was the mating call of the female club rat.

And usually, he’d start strategizing about dark corners and blow jobs at this point. For some reason, though, all he could think of was…If you’d rather be in Miami, hop a plane, and you paid for those damn extensions. If you don’t want the shit covering your tits, pull it back in a rubber band, for godsakes.

As she started talking at him again, he was very aware that this whole out-to-the-club thing was not following his playbook. Glancing over to his boys, he saw three other vampires dressed out of the same men’s section of Neiman Marcus, the trio like variations on a set of cocktail coasters: The suits might have been different shades of blue or gray, but the cut was the same with skinny legs and thin lapels, and the shirts under those fitted jackets were subtly patterned in similar fashions. The watches were not Rolex, nope, too cheap. They were Audemars Piguet or Hublot. And in their breast pockets, they were packing coke and X. Oh, and there was a driver waiting in the back alley when they were through looking good while they polluted themselves. No Uber. Ever.

And this little hors d’oeuvre in the white shrink-wrap would know all that.

She also came with her own crew, her three friends the saltshakers to his buddies’ pepper mills.

So yes, everyone had gotten the memo.

With no real interest, he squeezed her waist to test whether it was Spanx or dieting that had created that tight curve—and it was both, going by the whalebones of the corset she had on. She was too thin, he decided.

He liked Novo’s build better. It was power. Strength. Solidity.

Man, this was so not happening for him. He was the plug out of the socket, his lounging sprawl for the first time because of boredom rather than entitled languor.

With a lithe shift, the girl stood up off him, extended her arms over her head, and did a slow turn that presented him with her ass. Looking over her shoulder, her plump lips kept moving like she was saying something, but she might as well have been lecturing him on astrophysics.

One of his buddies leaned into him. “You always get the good ones. But I’m coming up high and tight behind you.”

As if to prove the point, the male spun the girl who was coming on to him around as if he were parking an R8 next to a 911 and comparing the rear spoilers of the two sports cars.

Peyton looked away—only to get one of those blue lasers right in his eyeball.

For some reason, probably because the flash of light gave him a headache, he thought of his father. His sire had thrown a spectacular fit the minute Peyton had walked into the mansion, complete with all kinds of you-are-a-disgrace fireworks. And as with this club scene, he had just sat back, removed from the show even as his body was right in it.

He’d thrown the guy a couple of bones to appease him, and then it had been upstairs to shower and dress. Three phone calls later had brought him right here.

He had done this how many nights?

Too many to count—

His lady friend lowered that ass right onto his Gucci belt—wasn’t there a rap about this?—and started working it.

She was very aroused. He could tell by her scent.

Placing his hands on her hips, he closed his eyes and tried to get into it.

—

Saxton sat in Minnie’s kitchen with that coffee for a while, listening to the porch door’s whistle from its loose weather stripping. What he really wanted to do was talk to someone, but the only person that came to mind was Blay, and that would seem too much like he was trying to prove a point about moving on or something.

The weird thing about sexual attraction was its strength and power could create an illusion of closeness between two people: When the body was drawn to another person’s, and desperate and hungry for a physical expression, it was like the brain felt it had to catch up by manufacturing an intellectual or emotional connection.

Surface compatibility thus being assigned deeper connective meaning.

But in fact, you didn’t know someone until you knew them. What was that saying? Unless you traveled with somebody, you had no idea who they truly were…

Knowing them for a decade was even better.

The truth was, Ruhn didn’t know him any better, either. The male had no knowledge of his relationship with Blay, his troubles with his sire, his background and struggle. And this stuff about Ruhn’s past? It was absolutely horrific, and he hated that the male had gone through it. But he had to acknowledge that he’d rather liked the idea of protecting a shy, quiet, sensitive soul in the world, being the guardrail and interpreter of new and different experiences.

Over dinner, for example, he’d planned in his head all kinds of other places he could take Ruhn to eat, Vietnamese, Thai, Italian. And in spite of what he’d promised, all of the restaurants would have been way outside of Ruhn’s price range to afford.

In his mind, he’d looked forward to providing all those exclusive new tastes and tempting treats.

There was control in bringing another out of their shell, wasn’t there. Safety, because they relied on you in their unfamiliarity and inevitable discomfort.

Now, after what he’d witnessed in that fight, all that fantastical noblesse oblige on his part had to be recast. The gentle giant had been through torture, and anyone who could survive the likes of that did not need protection by anyone.

Lowering his head into his hands, he thought, wow, it was a good thing people didn’t share their inner musings with anybody else.

Because this kind of truth-telling was best kept under lock and key: He was an utter asshole to be worried about his little psychological dramas in comparison with what that male had lived through. Ten years, in a cage? Killing males or being killed? Getting marked?

Saxton had never been through anything like that, and the idea that Ruhn’s past was suddenly making this romance thing between them much too real was too ugly to contemplate.

I cannot have my dignity if I lie to someone I’m falling in love with.

Talk about courage. To say that and mean it?

With a curse, Saxton got to his feet. He had no memory of when he’d taken off his coat, but he found it in a chair next to where he’d been staring off into space.

As he pulled the thing on, he went into the parlor and looked over to the fireplace, to those tiles that lined the hearth. He tried to imagine Minnie and her hellren traveling all the way across the ocean to an unknown land with the specter of the sun looming every day, little money to their name, and nothing but love to shield them.

That was courage.

Shaking his head, he went back to the kitchen, and set the alarm on the panel by the door into the garage; then he closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Eventually, he managed to dematerialize and leave in a scatter of molecules through the tiny seam in that weather stripping.

He resumed form all the way across town, miles away, on the rear stoop of the Audience House. As he entered through the kitchen door, his brain totally flatlined. There were some doggen around, doing…God only knew what…and he had some kind of interaction with them. Questions asked and answered, this type of thing.

And then he was in his office. The King was taking the night off, but there were still things to be filed and paperwork to be done…also the stuff that Wrath had called about…

Or had that been a different night? Another time?

Some other…

Sitting down, he put his head in his hands and tried to remember what had been said about which things when. But there was no piecing together the thoughts, no cognitive map materializing out of the soup of confusion to help him march his way back to an even nominal functioning.

A knock on the doorjamb brought his head up. “Oh. Hello.”

As the Brother Rhage entered, he filled the entirety of the office with his preternatural beauty and incredible size and bracing charisma. It was like Ryan Reynolds, the Jolly Green Giant from those frozen-vegetable ads, and twelve world leaders had rolled into one being and come in for a little chat.

“You look like shit,” the Brother said as he sat down on the other side of the partner’s desk. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Did you need something?”

“Not really. I came to drop off more of George’s teeth-cleaning thingies. Don’t tell Fritz. He’ll freak—but I was going by Petco—what the hell is wrong with you? I’m serious. You’ve got a death mask going on.”

As Saxton tried to find a place to start, a thread in the tangle to begin the unraveling, Rhage took a cherry Tootsie Pop out of his leather jacket and peeled the wrapper.

“Hello? Have you stroked out on me over there?” Rhage’s teeth were brilliant white as he opened his mouth to fit the lollipop in between his sharp fangs. “You want I get you a doctor?”

“Actually, what I need is…” Saxton cleared his throat. “I’m not sure I should be talking to you about this.”

He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize Bitty and her adoptive parents’ relationship with Ruhn. But who else could he go to?

“And I don’t want this to change anything,” he tacked on.

Rhage shrugged. “Well, considering I don’t know what you’re about to say, I’m not sure I can promise anything. But I’m good at the open-minded stuff. I mean, shit, I put up with Lassiter almost better than anyone else. Okay. Fine, better than Vishous. Wait, that probably isn’t saying much. What was the question?”

“It’s about Ruhn.”

Rhage ditched the levity. “What about him?”

“His past. Specifically.”

Instantly, the Brother changed, his big body sitting up, his eyes narrowing, the Tootsie Pop getting a hard crunch of some tense molars.

“What about it?”

Saxton picked a pen out of his holder and fiddled with the thing, twisting its cap in circles. Popping the cap off. Putting it back on.

“I know that Phury and Vishous went down there.” Saxton looked up. “To his old master’s estate. They found out about his background.”

“They did.”

“And so you know what happened to him.”

There was a pause. “Yeah. The fight ring. But how did you hear about it? We were keeping a lid on it out of respect for him.”

“He told me.” Saxton shook his head. “I don’t know how anyone lives through something like that.”

Rhage sat back and stared across the desk, those Bahamian blue eyes so bright, they nearly cast shadows. “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Of course.”

“Are you thinking of dating him or something?” As Saxton stiffened, the Brother shrugged. “It’s cool if you are. I mean, I know he didn’t have a female or anything down at his place, and he’s never been mated.”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“So it’s a yes. And hey, I only ask because I’m curious. I can’t think of any other reason why you’d bring this up. If he were just a guard for you, I figure you’d be glad he had the experience, even if the way he got it was extreme.”

“I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

“But you want to know if he’s going to kill you in your sleep, right?” As Saxton stammered, Rhage put up a hand. “Mary psych-tested him. I mean, Bitty invited him to live with us, and we were more than willing—because hello, he’s our daughter’s nearest blood relative. But with Wrath, Beth, and little Wrath in the house, we couldn’t take chances. Mary gave him the tests orally as naturally he couldn’t read them. He passed all the screenings. He’s bog standard, non-psychotic. She said he has a boatload of PTSD, of course. I mean, after what he’d been through, how could you not have it. And I don’t know…after tonight? With him attacking those humans? Maybe this guarding you stuff is not a good place for him to be.”

“Indeed.”

“He’s a good male, though. I trust him. And I know you’re not usually around when he’s with Bitty, but you should see them together. Every day before she goes to bed, the two of them come upstairs. There’s this puzzle table that we set up in her room, you know? The pair of them sit there and work on puzzles—frankly, that shit makes me crazy. I mean, you want to talk about psychotic. Hello. Sitting with eight million tiny pieces that you can’t pick up with your fingers, trying to match the colors—but I digress.” He crunched the Tootsie Pop and started chewing. “They love it. And all the time? In this quiet voice, he tells her stories of her mahmen and her grandparents. What it was like growing up—it sounded like a great life. In the country, playing outside, horses and sheep, a mahmen and father who loved Ruhn and his sister so much. And Bitty, she eats it up. He’s given her the side of the family that helps her feel like her mahmen is still with her. It’s priceless. It really is.” Rhage laughed a little. “And come to think of it, it’s pretty much the only time I hear him talk.”

Saxton nodded. “I’m so glad they have that connection. And yes, from what I have seen, they are very close.”

“Ruhn’s like a son to me. For real.”

“I just never expected…well, I didn’t expect everything that happened to him.”

“Who would?” Rhage tossed the white stick with its pink stain on one end in the trash. “And listen, I’ve already talked to Mary about what went down tonight. She’s going to pay Ruhn a little visit. See if he needs a tune-up, so to speak. She helped Z a lot with his shit, so tragically, she has some experience dealing with trauma.”

“I don’t judge him.” As Saxton spoke, he realized he was trying the words out, seeing if they were true—and that made him feel like a bad person.

“Good. Because you shouldn’t. And you shouldn’t be afraid of him, either. Everyone deserves second chances. I am living proof of it.”

“You’re right. And what happened to him was nothing he volunteered for.”

“Too right.”

“I feel like I’m in mourning on his behalf.”

“Anyone who’s heard the story feels the same way.”

Will my heart be safe with him, Saxton wondered to himself.

And to be fair, that was a question he would be asking no matter who he was contemplating a relationship with.

“I wish I could see into the future,” he murmured.

“There are certain corners in life where that would be a nice bonus. I wish I could help you more.”

“Thank you.” Saxton smiled. “You are a gentlemale under all your bravado.”

“Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

After a moment, the Brother got up and sauntered out, leaving Saxton with his own thoughts.

After a while, he went to his file drawers. Getting down on his haunches in the far corner, he pressed his thumb to a sensor and sprang the lock. Documents pertaining to the Black Dagger Brotherhood and their families were kept there and he easily located Bitty’s adoption papers.

Taking the file out, he opened the cover and flipped through to the last page, where Ruhn had “signed” his name.

The male had drawn a self-portrait of himself on the line where the signature was supposed to go.

It was a stunning rendering, and so realistic that Saxton ran his finger down the contours of the cheek and could swear he felt the warmth of the male himself.

For some reason, he thought of Blay and Qhuinn. From what he understood, Blay had always taken care of his partner, looked after him, made sure he was as stable as he could be. It had been an expression of love before that word had been shared between them.

The longer Saxton stared at that drawing, the more he realized why all of this with Ruhn was affecting him so.

He had the capacity to fall in love with the male.

And that meant the stakes were very high. He knew all too well what unrequited love felt like. This stuff with Ruhn? It had an even greater potential for destruction.