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If Tohr took off again . . .

John wheeled around and couldn’t make his fingers work the lever so he could get out. With increasing panic, he clawed at the black mechanism until finally it sprang free. Bursting into the bathroom, he beelined for the door and didn’t make it.

Over each of the six copper sinks, there was a gold-framed mirror.

Taking a deep breath, he picked the mirror that was the closest to the door and stepped in front of it, meeting his grown-up face for the first time.

His eyes were the same . . .his eyes were exactly the same blue and the same shape. Everything else he didn’t recognize, not the hard cut of the jaw or the thickness of the neck or the broad forehead. But the eyes were his.

He supposed.

Who am I, he mouthed.

Peeling his lips off his front teeth, he leaned in and looked at his fangs.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen those before?”

He spun on his boot. Xhex was standing against the door, effectively closing them in together.

She was wearing exactly the same thing she always did, but to him it was as if he’d never seen the tight muscle shirt or the leathers before.

“I saw you tumble in here. Just thought I’d make sure you were okay.” Her gray eyes didn’t waver, and he bet they never did from anything. The female had a stare like a statue’s, direct and unflappable.

An incredibly sexy statue’s.

I want to fuck you, he mouthed, not caring that he was making a fool out of himself.

“Do you.”

Clearly, she read lips. Either that or cocks, because God knew his had its hand raised and waving in his jeans.

Yeah, I do.

“Lot of women in this club.”

Only one you.

“I think you’d be better off with them.”

And I think you’d be better off with me.

Where the fuck the confidence was coming from, he didn’t care. Whether it was an ego-gift from God or just bottle-born stupidity, he was going with it.

Fact, I know you would.

He deliberately slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans and gave the fuckers a slow jack up. As his arousal showed plain as siding on a house, her eyes dipped down, and he knew what she was seeing: He was hung fit for the size of his six-foot-seven body. And that was without an erection. With one, he was tremendous.

Ah, not so statuelike, are we, he thought as her stare didn’t return to his face, but flared ever so slightly.

With her eyes on him, and an electrical sizzle between them, he wasn’t his past anymore. He was just now. And now was her locking that goddamn door and letting him go down on her. Then the two of them fucking while standing up.

Her lips parted, and he waited for her words like he waited for God’s arrival.

Abruptly, she jerked her hand up to her earpiece and frowned. “Shit. I’ve got to go.”

John whipped out a paper towel from the wall dispenser, took his pen from his pocket, and wrote some bold words. Before she could take off, he went over and forced what he’d scribbled on into her hand.

She looked down at it. “You want me to read now or later.”

Later, he mouthed.

As he pushed through the door, he was a lot more sober. And he had a big-ass, I’m-the-man smile on his face.

When Lash reappeared in his parents’ foyer, he kept still for a little bit. His body felt as though it had been pressed between two sheets of waxed paper and hit with an iron, a fallen leaf captured and preserved artificially, and not without some pain.

He glanced at his hands. Flexed them. Cracked his neck.

The lessons from his father had begun. They were going to meet regularly. He was ready to learn.

Curling his hands into fists and releasing them, he counted the tricks he had now. Tricks that were . . . not tricks, actually. Not tricks at all. He was a monster. A monster just beginning to understand the usefulness of the scales on his body and the flames in his mouth and the barbs on his tail.

It was kind of like it had been after his change. He had to figure out who he was again and how his body worked.

Fortunately the Omega was going to help him. As any good parent should.

When he could stand it, Lash turned his head and looked