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The stewardess that my brother heard coming from the servant’s cabin rolls in a cart of alcohol and various blood-infused beverages. She smiles at me, but I don’t recognize her. Based on her woodsy scent, she’s probably some sort of shifter.
“Hello, Mr. Zyran. Would you like a B-negative Valentino shot for your flight?”
I give her a slight tilt of my head in confirmation. “You’re well informed of my tastes, sweetheart.”
She giggles at the endearment, although it’s one I give every female I come across. Her platinum blonde hair is up in a bun and her ample cleavage is poking out from a frilly white uniform. Her fake eyelashes and fresh coat of lipstick suggest she’s trying too hard.
If she were truly well informed of my tastes, she would know I prefer dirty blondes and much less makeup.
Should I want her anyway, she’d be on her back in my private cot, but lately I’m feeling a bit lethargic when it comes to sex.
It’s as if the act doesn’t interest me anymore. I’m far too young for ennui to set in, so I’m not sure what caused the dry spell, but at least it’s given me more time to focus on our little death stone problem.
It might as well be a ball and chain on my brother and me. Although, it’s a strange prison we live in, to be sure.
Daithi’s methods to keep us under control are to pretend we’re high-ranking members of his clan instead of the slaves that we are. My brother and I aren’t impressed by finery, but we play our parts all the same.
For Jasper’s sake.
It’s a role we’ve both played for so long that I’m not sure I know how to do anything else.
I glance at Kor while his gaze flicks across the page of his book. We’re both well read, but he bests me when it comes to devouring ink across the corpses of trees.
The lovely stewardess sets the shot on my table, securing it in the little slot that protects it from falling due to turbulence. She flirts with me a bit more, but when nothing comes of that, she hides her disappointment by batting her eyelashes at my brother.
Good luck with that, sweetheart.
While my dry spell has been temporary, Kor’s has lasted as long as I’ve known him.
He’s no virgin, but only one or two females ever made it past his hard exterior.
Given his particularpower, neither of them survived it. He thought he could control it the second time around, but all it did was double his guilt.
When Kor clearly has more of a hard-on for his book on Lapland’s geography—one he’s read a few times—the stewardess gives up and stomps back to the servant’s cabin.
I bark a laugh, earning a raised brow from my brother. “What’s so funny?” he asks.
“You really didn’t see her basically falling into your lap?”
Kor just looks confused. “Who?”
I laugh again as I pick up my shot and appreciate the sweet notes of B-negative blood. The whiskey mixed in adds its own spice that makes the blood a little more fiery, but perhaps it’s uncouth to brag about it.
The drink is one of my own creation. I probably would have been a bartender in another life. It’s my twist on the Valentino Cocktail.
“You befuddle me, Kor,” I say instead. I knock back the shot and sigh a little on the inside.
Better than sex.
“If that’s better than sex, then you’re doing it wrong,” my brother says without looking up.
I frown at him. “Didn’t realize I said that out loud.”
“And I didn’t realize you wanted to suck your own cock. You invented that drink.”
So, hewaslistening.
I chuckle. “If I want my cock sucked, I have plenty of options, brother. Perhaps you’re just projecting your own desires.”
