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As Morio followed her up the stairs, I motioned to Rozurial. “Come out on the back porch. I want to talk for a moment while they’re getting ready.”
I shut the door behind us and turned to Roz, who leaned against the built-in counter that was covered with flowerpots and gardening supplies. He was wearing a pair of black leather pants, formfitting to a breathtaking degree, and a black tank. His hair hung free to his shoulders. He placed his hands on the counter behind him and spread his legs just enough to let me stand between them.
“We don’t have long,” I whispered, suddenly hungry for him. The kiss had echoed through my dreams. As I pressed between his legs, he wrapped his arms around me, enfolding me as he brought his head down and brushed his lips against mine. Once again, sparks flared, and his musky scent lured me in.
He played his lips against mine, teasing me, scraping his teeth gently against the skin as he very lightly flickered his tongue into my mouth. If I’d been alive, I would have been lost for good. He could have done anything he wanted with me, and I wouldn’t put up a fuss. As it was, I was so horny that I thought I was going to scream.
I managed to pull myself away from him. “We have to go. But later—later . . .”
His dark eyes gleamed, and he gave me that sardonic smile. “Later, I’m going to lay you down and slide between those gorgeous legs of yours and make you come so hard you won’t be able to breathe.”
I laughed then. “I don’t have to breathe, so no problem. But yes . . . I think I’m ready, Roz. I think I’m ready for you.”
“Good,” he said, brushing his lips across my forehead. “Because I’ve been ready for you since we first met.”
And with that, we headed inside to grab our coats. As we left the house, Iris watching Maggie and waiting forlornly for her drunken sot of a leprechaun to call and apologize, my thoughts lingered on a certain curly haired incubus. Just what tricks could he teach me?
Vanzir and Roz took off before we could reach Camille’s car. I shook my head as the pair disappeared from sight. “We’ve got some really odd bedfellows, you know?”
Camille grinned. “I have the feeling one of them is about to become a bedfellow for real.” She let Morio take the driver’s seat and rode shotgun. I sat in the back with the camera and a few other odds and ends.
As Morio backed out of the driveway, I ran over everything I’d seen the night before, in as much detail as I could. Camille listened, nodding periodically. When I came to the used condoms and dust bunnies, she let out a strangled “Ewww” and shuddered.
“Yeah, it was pretty gross,” I said. “And I’m used to gross.”
“I’m just glad we don’t have to use condoms,” Camille said, glancing over at Morio, who simply grinned and kept on driving. I could see the smile plastered across his face in the mirror.
“Does the shot you and Delilah got before we left wear off? I can just see you with a half-demon child . . . or a half-dragon.”
“Dragons can’t impregnate Fae, and the shot lasts until we go home and take the antidote,” she said. “But . . . I dunno, Morio, can I get pregnant from you? Theoretically?”
He arched one eyebrow, still smirking. “Yes. You can. I wouldn’t object, but now isn’t exactly the best time, considering the circumstances.”
“There’s no best time when it comes to me and children,” she mumbled.
Morio pulled to the curb in front of the Hellions’ house. I pointed out the window on the third floor. “That’s Larry’s bedroom.”
Camille glanced at me. “Ready? They know that you and I are half-Fae, by the way. I decided they might be more interested in talking to us, and boy, did they bite when I mentioned it.”
She slid out of the seat. As usual, Camille hadn’t stinted when it came to dress. She’d done herself up royal, with a full chiffon skirt in a rich plum, a black and silver bustier that squeezed her boobs into an eye-popping display, lace gloves, and a lace shawl.
Morio was dressed in black jeans, a black mesh tank, and a leather jacket. He’d unleashed his hair, and it was sleek, shiny, and just ever so slightly waved. They made one hell of a couple. Actually, Camille looked good with all her men. They were all on the flamboyant side and fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.
I was still dressed in what I’d put on when I got up: indigo jeans, skintight, and a silk turtleneck in pale blue. The shirt hid my scars without appearing too warm. The heat—or cold—wouldn’t bother me, but it helped me to pass when I went out in public. I was wearing a denim bolero jacket over the top and lace-up stiletto boots that came to my knee. Holding the camera in what I hoped looked like a professional manner, I followed Camille and Morio up the stairs to the front door.
I was glad that I was looking at my feet when the door opened, or I might have given something away. Because Larry was standing there, welcoming us in. When I heard his voice, I slapped on an impassive expression and glanced at him, but I might as well have not existed. He was staring at Camille’s boobs with the look of a kid staring through a candy store window. Yep, she had some impressive weapons, all right.
“I’m Camille, the reporter? Here to speak with Harold Young?”
“Yeah, right . . . come on in.” He ushered us into an extensive parlor. But size wasn’t always everything. By the condition of the room, it was obvious that a pack of college boys lived there. Take-out containers lay strewn across the tables, a foosball table sat off to one corner, Penthouse posters covered the walls, and a flurry of books and papers covered most of one long table that looked like it had been swiped from a library.
Black velvet drapes covered the windows, making me cringe. They were covered with lint and dust. At least the guys hadn’t shoved them in the washing machine, because they still looked to be in one piece, if a little ratty.
Larry motioned to the sofa. “Just dump all that stuff on the floor,” he said. “You guys want a beer or something?”
Camille murmured a polite no, as did Morio. I shook my head and held up the camera. “Got to keep a steady hand,” I said, trying for casual.
“Heh,” Larry said, glancing at me for the first time. He started to look away, then stopped, his eyes flashing back to me. I froze. There was something in his expression that didn’t track right. Almost like he recognized me. But that was impossible. I’d been careful to make sure I’d stayed hidden.
