Apparently they both had better staying power than they knew. Several punishing, fang-rattling minutes later, Gethin snaked a hand around Sorley’s hip and grasped his cock with a hot hand. On the third stroke, Sorley flew apart. His mind emptied of everything but the overwhelming sensations that overtook him body and soul. He soared, blind and deaf to anything but the grip on his manhood and the fullness in his arse.
When reality reasserted itself, he was face down, pressed into the mattress by a solid, hairy torso. He shifted his head to stare at the mirror opposite the bed. Gethin’s tan skin against his own milky pallor made for a pleasing reflection. He sighed with contentment; nowthathad been a good fuck.
Gethin mumbled into his neck. “Sorry, I’ll move. Gissa minute.”
Sorley rolled his eyes. “You’re heavy, but I’m no delicate maiden. Whenever you’re ready.” He didn’t mind the solid weight. It was grounding, real, and frankly needed; he’d worried his limbs would detach with the force of his orgasm, sending pieces of him spiralling through the air like glitter from a cannon.
Gethin rolled off him and onto his back. “Fucking hell,” he breathed. “That was…”
“Yes, it was rather. Do you mind if I take the first shower?” He didn’t wait for an answer; the wolf was barely conscious.
Clean and dry, Sorley pulled on silk lounge pants and made his way barefoot to the kitchen, where he took a bottle of red wine from the rack. He deftly worked the cork free and poured a large glass, then crossed to the window to gaze at the night sky.
Alcohol wouldn’t get him drunk — wouldn’t have any more effect than a glass of water on his system — but he liked the pretence that it might. God knew, he deserved a drink. The attack on the shifter in Manchester had shaken him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He collected his laptop and phone and started scrolling for any clues that the clean up crew hadn’t got there fast enough. So far there was nothing of note. Even Twitter was blessedly quiet.
He fired off a volley of texts to his friend Baxter. Her google-fu far surpassed his own. If there was any shred of evidence lurking online, she’d find it and most likely eradicate it before dawn.
His mobile chimed, low and insistent. He answered. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. What the bloody hell, Sor? First I find out you’d skipped town on some fucked-up, arse-backwards not-a-bender under the influence of something freaky, and now you’re telling me a wolfy’s got themself nobbled as well? What the ’ell’s going on, treacle, and how come I’m the last to know?” Her rant over, her tone softened. “Are you okay? Sor, babe, are you alone?”
“Chance’d be a fine thing.” He explained about breaking and entering at Gethin’s place, his subsequent imprisonment, and what had happened since they left Cardiff. “Whatever they did to me, it had me convinced I daren’t feed. Except feeding was all I could think of.” He felt an echo of the panic like a scorpion crawling down his spine and quickly added more wine to his glass. “I’m fine, just fuming they got to me.”
“Gotta be scary, babe. We’re supposed to be top of the food chain. I don’t like it.”
“Me neither.” He heard a faint rumble from the bedroom; Gethin’s snores. He shook his head to dispel the thought the shifter looked good sprawled over Sorley’s navy blue sheets. He was a good-looking man, aesthetically appealing. There was no more to it than appreciation for a pleasing visual.
Baxter cut across his musings. “Eddie’s got something. I hope he’s not by hims—” She muttered something unintelligible and he listened to the muted clack of fingernails on a keyboard before she chuckled. “Ah, he’ll be fine. He’s with Iolo.” There was more tapping. “Imma leave you for a bit and check back when I know more.”
“Who the fuck is Iolo?” Sorley said irritably. He knew Edwin, had done ever since Dalziel had added him to their coven a century ago. He was good people, if a little mouthy and a lot slutty, and without a doubt the best vampire tracker the Council had. Dalziel joked Edwin had been reborn with a compass instead of a heart.
Baxter sighed as if it wasn’t the first time he’d asked such a question. “I know you’re not on the Council, but would it kill you to occasionally pay attention when I tell you stuff? Iolo, a wolf who’s currently helping the Manchester cop shifters, is IoloHughes.”
She paused expectantly. Sorley nearly snapped at her, “So what?” but he held his tongue and…
Oh.Ohhh.“Gethin’s…?”
“His son, dummy. I don’t randomly drop names into a convo unless they’re relevant. Seriously, Sor, how d’you not know this shit? I swear, I don’t know why I put up with you sometimes.”
“You love me.”
There was a soft huff at the other end of the line. “Yeah, I do,” she admitted. Sorley could hear the smile as she said it. He grinned around his wine glass.
“I’m very lovable.”
“You’re really not! But for reasons best known to better folk ’n me, I’m very fond of you. Right, I’ll call back later. Go and, I dunno, maybetalkto poor Hughes. If he’s stuck babysitting your skinny arse, least you could do is pretend you’re not a socially inept hyperactive mess. Not like you’re whiling away the hours fucking, is it? Poor straight hunky beast, stuck with you, you flaming pansy. Love you!”
She rang off.
Sorley glared at his mobile as if it was personally responsible for insulting him. “I’m not socially inept,” he muttered to the back door. He poured more wine and sipped it thoughtfully. “Am I?” Huh, maybe he was a bit. It hadn’t occurred to him to make small talk with Hughes, yet the shifter had upended his routine on a whim to keep Sorley safe. Yes, it was probably part of his job description, but seeing as Sorley didn’t actually know what that was, perhaps it was above and beyond his remit.
He relocated to the basement, taking the wine with him. The flat, while pleasant enough, was unremarkable, but it came with a cellar. Sorley, who was a firm believer in a healthy dose of paranoia being good for a long life, liked the security it afforded him. Windows could be broken, blinds and curtains ripped down, but the bolts he’d installed on the inside of the cellar door were custom fitted and would withstand the might of a small army should the need arise.
Sorley had installed a WiFi booster and purchased gym equipment, all of which he used a lot in long summer evenings while awaiting dusk, but it was the centre of the space that drew him now. He set his phone in an alcove and pulled up a playlist. Stepping out of his trousers, he clasped the pole in one firm hand, then leapt.
* * *
He knewGethin was watching before the shifter made his presence known. His bare feet hardly whispered on the stone steps, but Sorley felt the air shift around him. He ignored the man and finished his routine, ending by flinging himself upwards so he somersaulted, narrowly missing the ceiling before he dropped and landed on his feet like a cat.
