Page 28 of On the Road

He nudged me onto my back, spread my knees, and crawled between my legs. When a disheveled, bloodied, scuffed-up Victor Reynard got between your knees, there was nothing to be done but to sit back and enjoy where this was heading. In the next breath, my dick was between his lips and fangs. The cruel pleasure that tore through me had my back arching and toes curling.

I grabbed at his shoulder, probably his hair too, and tried to get some hip action going—chasing more, needing more—but Victor preferred to control things, and he pinned me down. Mercy, I hadn’t realized how much I’d needed this.

With everything that had happened during the past few days, I hadn’t known the emptiness inside was because I’d been putting distance between us.

How could I be mad he’d lied, when I’d been lying this whole time?

“Victor—”

His hand slammed over my mouth. His other hand mercilessly pumped my cock. Whatever thoughts I’d had about confessing succumbed to a rising wave of Victor getting me off. Nudging the point of no return, I grasped the sheets, surrendered the hardest part of me to Victor’s lips once more and fell over the edge, coming down his throat.

Mercy, I was weak for him.

Licking his lips, he prowled over me, then bowed his head. His mouth slammed into mine, his tongue thrust in, and it was all I could do to give as good as I got. He kissed me hard, tasting of blood and cum and everything delicious to the dragon inside.

“How was my apology?” he teased, when the bruising kiss ended.

“Hm . . .” I licked swollen lips. “It was a start.”

Rolling onto his side, he flung an arm over his forehead. “The werewolves who found me appeared to be rather tense. Did you threaten them?”

“Maybe . . . a little bit?” I turned my head, caught his smirk, and echoed his grin with my own.

“Measured violence is a language they are fluent in,” he purred, sounding all olde worlde vampirey.

Snuggling closer against his side, I teased the buttons on his shirt. “Victor . . . what was that thing in the woods?”

“Hm . . . I will explain what it’s not.” His deep but soft voice rumbled through him and me. “It’s not an average werewolf. More accurately, it may not be a werewolf at all. It’s certainly not of lupine origin. It’s faster and stronger than any werewolf I’ve encountered before.”

Twisting side-on, I propped my head on a hand and admired him all over, from his bloody shirt to the healing bruises on his knuckles. Still coming down from the buzz of him getting me off, it wouldn’t take much to lean in and spark our embers all over again. But we had work to do, so I fiddled with his buttons some more, skimming my fingers over his pale skin through a torn hole in his shirt. “If it’s not a lupine shifter, what are we dealing with?”

“I suspect it’s a loup-garou, but it’s rare to find one this side of the veil since they do not integrate particularly well with humans . . . So rare, in fact, I remain uncertain.”

“What’s that? A loup-garou?”

“Not so much a werewolf as a shapeshifter that can adopt a lupine form.”

“A shifter like me?”

“Hm, no. You’re a fixed-form shifter, like a werewolf. You have two states, dragon and man. A loup-garou can shapeshift into anything roughly humanoid, and is able to alter parts of itself. It can camouflage itself, for example . . . or sprout wings, should it need them.”

Placing my hand flat over his chest, I soaked up his steady heartbeat under my palm. “So it can pretend to be a werewolf?”

“It can pretend to be almost anything. But as I said, I am uncertain that’s what we’re dealing with. I only saw glimpses of it.”

The door to our room flew open and Zee’s unmistakable silhouette filled the frame. His wings fizzled away. He cocked a hip, striking a pose. “Hullo, bitches. Did you miss me?” He took a step into the room, stopped abruptly, and frowned. His camo vest had some bloodstains, but those were likely from Zander. “Hold up, did you start a party without me? Was there pegging? Did I miss it?”

“Victor and I uhm . . .” I began to explain how Victor had needed to apologize.

Victor swung his legs off the bed and stood. “I’d better shower.”

“Hey, wait.” Zee marched across the room—around the Oreo tower—with enough strut in his stride to pull Victor up short. “You’re bloody and bruised. You good, vampire?”

“I am good—well. Yes. I am well, thank you, demon.”

“Because you look like shit.”

“As eloquent as always.” Victor vanished into the tiny bathroom, leaving the door open, and a few moments later the sounds of the hissing shower filled the room.