Well, his firstrealhunt. He’d fed off Wolfe’s selected victims before, allegedly practicing his restraint. Which was honestly always easy enough with Wolfe staring at Eric with feverish eyes, pulling Eric’s beast’s attention away from the feed and back to his mate without even trying.
But this time, Eric would select his prey and run the compulsion himself. A solo mission. Okay, notsolo, seeing as how Wolfe was currently at his side, an arm wrapped possessively around Eric’s middle as they sipped their wine at the bar, his barstool pushed so close to Eric’s they were practically on each other’s laps.
Eric couldn’t even feign surprise. It wasn’t like either of them merited gold stars when it came to relationship independence.
And while Wolfe was usually content enough to feed on the trail hikers or runners that passed by their backyard, he’dinsisted on making Eric’s first real hunt more of an occasion, hence the fancy bar.
Gabe had told Eric that he and Soren usually frequented the clubs at the nearby town when hunting, which had honestly sounded kind of fun, but when Eric had suggested a nightclub, Wolfe had given him the most unimpressed look of his life before kissing him soundly and informing him he’d already selected their hunting grounds for the evening.
And now there they were, sipping wine that cost significantly more than the clothes on Eric’s back—the wine also selected by Wolfe—while Wolfe stroked said back absently and vetoed all Eric’s choices.
Every. Single. One.
“Her?”
“Mm. I think not.”
“Him?”
“Try again.”
“Them?” Eric pointed to a ridiculously attractive couple clearly on their own date night (although he’d bet theirs wouldn’t be ending in bloodshed, at least not intentionally). He thought maybe he had it right with this one; it was possible Wolfe wanted to be included in the hunt, and that was his problem. This way, they could each have their own. A shared plate.
Wolfe surreptitiously eyed the couple Eric had selected, and Eric eyed him in turn. He looked good, as usual. A sharp forest-green suit, even sharper cheekbones, his eyes doing their freaky red glint in the bar’s dim lighting. Wolfe was definitely the hottest thing in here, without a doubt. Eric wanted to nibble onhisneck more than anyone else’s. But that didn’t count as sustenance, as he’d been told a million times.
Eric really did think maybe he’d finally gotten it right. The couple were hot as hell, to be sure. He could definitely see hispast, pre-Wolfe self trying to insert himself between them for a bit of three-way fun.
But Wolfe—the snobby, picky bastard—wrinkled his nose as he looked them over, eventually giving a curt shake of his head. “We can do better.”
Eric stared at him, incredulous. Wolfe met his gaze, the picture of unconcern. But for the briefest moment,somethingflickered in his eyes while a faint emotion pulsed through the bond, one Eric hadn’t felt from Wolfe before.
Was that…jealousy?
Eric almost brushed the thought away. It would be so completely ridiculous if it were true. But then again, Wolfe wasn’t exactlynotridiculous.
Eric leaned closer. “Wolfe?” he murmured.
“Mm?” Wolfe sipped at his wine, his eyes tracking their bartender now.
“Can you tell me exactly what’s been wrong with my choices so far?”
Wolfe clearly needed no further prompting. “The woman was too trashy. The man has clearly dipped his toes into steroids. And that couple is—” He waved a hand dismissively, acting as if that was enough to finish his statement.
Holy fucking hell. Hewasjealous. Eric smirked. “You know I’m selecting a meal, not a bedmate, right?”
In a flash, he was rewarded with a sharp tug on his midsection, and Wolfe’s hot breath on his ear, released in a snarl. “As if you wouldever.”
Oh yeah. Super jealous. Red-hot, growly, ridiculous jealousy. Jesus, this guy.
Well, that was easy enough to handle. Eric snuggled in closer, as if Wolfe hadn’t just almost bitten his head off. “Wolfe?”
“Yes, darling?” Thedarlingcame out like a curse.
“Would you like to choose my meal for me?”
Wolfe tensed at Eric’s side, but Eric could feel his reluctant pleasure at the offer. “That would defeat the purpose of our outing, pet.”
Eric shrugged, his shoulder brushing up against Wolfe’s. “I don’t mind. You choose my outfits. You choose our wine. You choose when I need a hot bath instead of a shower. Why not choose my meals as well? I like when you do things for me.”
