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“It’s Octavius!” he called after him.
This was absurd. Saint wasn’t going to give him any answers. Like all nyks, he was just interested in feeding and fucking. It was almost a tragedy, how far he had fallen. Saint would have been a mighty Brotherhood member long ago.
No wonder Mikalis had locked him up. He was powerful and dangerous.
But why hadn’t Mikaliskilledhim, like he did all the other nyks they encountered?
It didn’t matter.
Octavius would put that mistake right and kill Saint now. If he did nothing else for the Brotherhood, at least he would have ridden the world of a powerful nyktelios and his stupid feeder.
He turned the oven’s burners on so they each hissed out noxious gas and then stepped back from the stovetop. Saint’s death would have to be enough for Mikalis to grant him a chance to defend himself. There was no other way.
CHAPTER3
Saint
It was remarkable that,after thousands of years, the Brotherhood still spewed the same lies. He’d hoped the white-haired one who had been tracking him for months—Octavius—would have been different.
Mikalis had definitely been trying to kill Octavius, suggesting Octavius might at least be reasonable. But no. The Brotherhood was destined to make the same mistakes over and over, just as they always had.
Saint closed the bedroom door behind him and slumped against it. Weariness tugged on his bones. He dropped his head back, thumped the door, and closed his eyes. He’d been alive too long for this bullshit. All he wanted to do was gorge and fuck his way through the apocalypse. Was that too much to ask?
“Hm,” Jayden purred. His warm, soft hand eased into Saint’s, then the rest of him pressed close. Saint kept his eyes closed and breathed in the smell of human, blood, and sweetness. “Still tired?” Jayden asked, walking his fingers up Saint’s chest. “Let me fix that.”
Hewastired and had tried to hide it from Octavius. The little wolf whined like a child, but he was powerful. Theyallwere. And the fight with Mikalis had left Saint wrecked, in more ways than one.
He was a fool to hope Mikalis might change. Hope? No, not that. His hope had died millennia ago.
Jayden’s warm lips skimmed Saint’s neck in the ghost of a kiss, and Saint’s fangs throbbed, seeking the pressure of warm flesh. The urge to bite beat through him. Not yet. He liked this, this quiet, having Jayden’s hands on him, his body close, his heart beating a rhythm between them.
“I like him,” Jayden murmured between fluttering kisses.
Saint snorted and opened his eyes to find Jayden’s freckle-dashed face peering back at him. By the damned, he was gorgeous. “Jay, he tried to kill you.”
“And I almost hit him with a pan. I think it’s love.”
Saint laughed again and eased Jayden aside. Jayden saw the best in everyone, even Saint. But Octavius didn’t seem the sort to have a heart. The viciousness with which he’d attacked Jayden had surprised even Saint. There were those who believed the Brotherhood lies, and those wholivedthem. Octavius was one who lived them.
The cult of Mikalis.
Saint unbuttoned his shirt and crossed the room, heading toward the bed. “It’s definitely notlove.” He turned, sat on the edge of the mattress, and pulled off the shirt. Jay’s gaze roamed his chest, sizzling heat where it landed. “Come here.”
Jay hesitated long enough so they both knew this was happening, then sauntered over. He wore tight shorts and one of Saint’s shirts, clothes he’d thrown on after a day of fucking and feeding. Saint had already taken blood, leaving Jay somewhat weakened. He’d need a few days to recover, but that didn’t mean Saint couldn’t indulge in other pleasures. Intimacy wasn’t always about blood. And he’d been locked up for so long, fed blood through bags, starved of physical touch, that he’d probably never sate his lust for the little pleasures.
Saint spread his knees and Jay slotted between them. “Be careful, Jay. The Brotherhood are all killers.” Saint ran his hands up Jay’s naked thighs and clutched his ass. His cock, hard in his shorts, happened to be at Saint’s eye level.
“So are you.”
“Hm.” Saint mouthed his dick through his thin shorts, and when Jay stuttered a gasp, Saint looked up the length of him. He’d dropped his head back. So easy to please. So responsive. Almost too eager.
It hadn’t taken long to find the perfect feeder. Saint had seem him the third night in St. Louis. The laughing man with the golden hair. But when Jay had thought nobody watched him, when he’d been alone, his smile had died. A heavy sadness clung to him even now. The kind of sadness he’d sought to drown in meaningless hookups or at the bottom of a bottle or banish at the end of a needle. When Jay had taken a wrong turn on leaving a bar, Saint had followed.
Jay would have died that night if Saint hadn’t stepped in. The three men who’d attacked Jay for the twenty bucks in his pocket were discovered the next day. Another three murders in the murder capital of the US. Another statistic.
Jay made a fine feeder. He was young, strong, and waiting to be saved.
His fingers dove into Saint’s hair, and his hips rocked, his body trying to chase the high Saint’s mouth would deliver. Saint’s fangs dropped; venom leaked, bitter on his tongue. Instinct demanded he bite and own and fuck so Jay fell deeper into his thrall. But from there, there would be no escape. Jay was Saint’s. Nyktelios and feeder, as it had been since the beginning of time. As it was meant to be.
