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He had to concentrate to make his hands form the words, Did I make it through?

“Yeah. Yeah, son, you did.” Wrath cleared his throat, and Beth stroked his tattooed forearm as if she knew he was struggling with emotion. “Congratulations.”

John blinked quick, his chest constricting. Am I still…me?

“Yes. Always.”

“Shall I go?” a female voice said.

John turned his head. Layla was standing in a dim corner, her perfectly beautiful face and her perfectly beautiful body in the shadows.

Instant. Hard-on.

Like someone injected steel into his cock.

He fumbled to make sure he was covered up, and thanked God when there was a blanket already over him. As he settled back on the pillow, Wrath was talking, but John’s sole focus was the throb between his legs…and the female across the room.

“It would be my pleasure to stay,” Layla said with a deep bow.

Staying was good, John thought. Her staying was…

Wait, the hell it was good. He wasn’t going to have sex with her, for God’s sake.

She stepped forward, into the pool of illumination thrown by the lamp on the bedside table. Her skin was white as moonlight, smooth as a satin sheet. It would be soft, too…under his hands, under his mouth…under his body. Abruptly John’s upper jaw tingled on both sides, right in front, then something protruded into his mouth. A quick stroke of his tongue and he felt the sharp points of his fangs.

Sex roared through his body until he had to look away from her.

Wrath chuckled a little, as if he knew what John was all about. “We’ll leave you two. John, we’re right down the hall if you need anything.”

Beth leaned down and barely brushed his hand with hers, as if she knew exactly how sensitive his skin was. “I’m so proud of you.”

As their eyes met, what came to him was, And I of you.

Which made absolutely no sense. So he signed in a sloppy way, Thank you, instead.

They were gone a moment later, the door shutting him and Layla in together. Oh, this was not good. He felt he was on a bucking bronco, for all the control he had over his body.

As it wasn’t safe to look at the Chosen, he glanced over to the bathroom. Through the jambs, he saw the marble shower and got a serious case of the joneses.

“Would you care to wash, your grace?” Layla said. “Shall I run the water for you?”

He nodded to get her busy with something while he tried to figure out what to do with himself.

Take her. Fuck her. Have her twelve different ways.

Okay, yeah, that was not what he should be doing.

The shower came on and Layla came back, and before he knew what was doing, the blanket came off his body. His hands shot up to cover himself, but her eyes got to his erection first.

“May I help you into the bath?” Her voice was husky, and she stared at his hips as if she approved.

Which inflated that huge weight under his palms even more.

“Your grace?”

Just how was he supposed to sign in this condition?

Whatever. She wouldn’t understand him anyway.

John shook his head, then sat up, keeping one hand on himself and planting the other on the mattress for stability. Shit, he felt like a table whose screws had all been loosened, his constituent parts not fitting together well anymore. And the trip into the bathroom seemed like an obstacle course, even though there was nothing in his way.

At least he wasn’t solely focused on Layla anymore.

Keeping himself cupped, he stood and wobbled into the bathroom, trying not to think about how he was mooning Layla. While he went along, images of newborn foals played through his head, particularly the ones where their spindly legs bent like wires as they struggled to keep off the ground. He so got that. It seemed like at any moment his knees were going to take a vacation and he was going to yard-sale like an idiot.

Right. He was in the bathroom. Good job.

Now if he could just keep from hitting the bald marble. Although, God, getting clean would be worth the contusions. Except even the shower he wanted so badly was trouble. Stepping under the warm, gentle spray was like getting