• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Had the death blow already happened? Had that first one been enough to leave his brain hemorrhaging?

Whatever. It felt good. The whole thing felt good, and he wondered whether this was what sex was like. The afterward, that was. Nothing but peaceful relaxation.

He thought about Zsadist coming up to him in the midst of that party months ago, a duffel bag in his hand and a hellacious demand in his eyes. Phury had been sickened at what his twin had needed, but he’d nonetheless gone with Z to the gym and hit the male over and over and over again.

That hadn’t been the first time Zsadist had needed that kind of release.

Phury had always hated giving his twin the beatings he’d demanded, had never understood the why of the masochistic drive, but he got it now. This was fantastic. Nothing mattered. It was as if real life were a distant thunderstorm that would never reach him because he’d gotten out of its path.

Rhage’s deep voice came from a distance as well. “Phury? I’ve called for pickup. You need to go to Havers’s.”

When Phury tried to talk, his jaw refused to do its job, sure as someone had glued it in place. Clearly, the swelling was setting in already, and he settled for shaking his head.

Rhage’s face came into his lopsided vision. “Havers will—”

Phury shook his head again. Bella would be at the clinic tonight dealing with the baby issue. If she was on the verge of miscarrying, he didn’t want to tip her over the edge by showing up as an emergency case.

“No…Havers…” he said hoarsely.

“My brother, what you’ve got going on is more than first aid can handle.” Rhage’s model-perfect face was a mask of deliberate calm. Which meant the guy was really worried.

“Home.”

Rhage cursed, but before he could push for the Havers trip again, a car turned into the alley, its headlights flashing.

“Shit.” Rhage flipped into action, hefting Phury up off the pavement and hustling behind the Dumpster.

Which brought them right next to the desecrated lesser.

“What the fuck?” Rhage breathed while a Lexus with chromed-out twenties eased by them, rap thumping.

When it had passed, Rhage’s brilliant teal eyes narrowed. “Did you do that?”

“Bad…fight…s’all,” Phury whispered. “Get me home.”

As he closed his eye, he realized he’d learned something tonight. Pain was good, and if garnered under the right circumstances, it was less shameful than heroin. Easier to get, too, as it could be a legitimate by-product of his job.

How perfect.

As Jane sat in the chair across from her patient’s bed, her head was down and her eyes were closed. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she had done to him…and what he had done as a result. She saw him just as he climaxed, his head kicked back, his fangs gleaming, his erection jerking in her grip while his breath went in on a gasp and came out on a groan.

She shifted around, feeling hot. And not because the radiator had kicked on.

God, she couldn’t stop herself from replaying the scene over and over again, and it got so bad, she had to part her mouth for breath. At one point during the continuous loop she felt a brief sting in her head, like her neck had settled into a bad position, but then she dozed off.

Naturally, her subconscious took over where memory left off.

The dream started when something touched her shoulder, something warm and heavy. She was eased by the feel of it, by the way it slowly went down her arm and over her wrist and to her hand. Her fingers were gathered in a grip and squeezed, then splayed out for a kiss placed on the center of her palm. She felt the soft lips, warm breath, and the velvet brush of…a goatee.

There was a pause, as if permission had been asked.

She knew exactly who she was dreaming about. And she knew exactly what was going to happen in the fantasy if she allowed things to continue.

“Yes,” she whispered in her sleep.

Her patient’s hands went to her calves and eased her legs off the chair, then something broad and warm moved in, going between her thighs, splaying them wide. His hips