You’re being a fool, Reynolds. He hadn’t gotten laid in a while, that was all. And the self-sabotaging part of his personality probably thought fucking Robin Ashton would be the surest way of hurting Melissa so she’d end things with him before he had to do the dirty work himself.
Still, when Robin insisted Mirren be the one to bond her, saying it was the only way she’d truly win his trust, Cage felt that shot of adrenaline burst into his bloodstream again. He looked at the painting of a forest scene on the wall, focusing on that instead. I wonder if Glory finally got Mirren to use the art supplies she bought him after the shit with Matthias settled down? Maybe that cold weather will move in next week. Wonder what Americans are watching on the telly these days?
Except Robin kept talking, which made it pretty hard to ignore her and focus on inane internal chatter. Especially when he could follow the sounds of their movements as they took the seats where Aidan and Nik had been.
“What did it feel like?” Robin asked Nik, and then didn’t give him a chance to answer. “Put the knife away, big boy. I want you to bite me.”
Oh, hell no! Cage caught himself before he said it aloud, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking.
Mirren flicked open his blade, grabbed her arm, and cut it before she could react. “These fangs go in no one but my mate. Deal with it.”
“But—Oh . . .” Robin’s voice drained away as Mirren raised her arm to his lips and latched onto the cut, drawing deeply. Her eyes closed, and a small sigh escaped.
Enough already. Cage waited for Mirren to stop, but he drew from her a second time—a big draw, way more than was necessary. Then all thought left Cage as she turned a hooded gaze to look at him. His head spun from the force of the desire on her face. Her pupils had dilated to black pools, her lips trembled slightly, and she shivered.
“Holy fuck.” Mirren shoved Robin’s arm away from him with enough force to jostle her on the adjoining sofa cushion, and Cage caught her. He didn’t remember moving, but he had his arm around her before Mirren cleared the end of the couch.
Mirren started to walk away, but Aidan spoke with more force than Cage had ever heard from him, especially directed at his second-in-command. “Mirren, finish it.”
After a long pause, Mirren did as he was told, drawing out his knife again and making the cut on his own arm. He sat as far from Robin on the sofa as he could and still get his arm in the vicinity of her face. He never turned to look at her.
She shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t . . . I can’t.”
Cage tightened his arm around her shoulders and leaned close, taking in her scent of pine and sunshine and warmth. She felt so fragile, so small, and yet so alive. Her heart raced, and his head swam at the scent of her blood. Mirren hadn’t sealed the wound, and a trickle of it trailed down her arm. He forced his gaze away from the tantalizing path of red. “It doesn’t taste like you think it will, love. Just a little. I’m here with you.”
She swallowed hard and nodded, but didn’t move.
Cage reached out and took hold of Mirren’s beefy arm, guiding it toward her face. “Just do it quickly and be done, little bird,” he murmured.
Again, Robin nodded. This time, she dipped her head and pressed her lips to Mirren’s skin, taking in a small bit of blood. She began to shiver, and Cage pulled her close as Mirren, his duty done, propelled himself off the sofa like he’d been burned with silver. He took his position against the wall next to the fireplace, looking at the floor.
“Well, that was interesting.” Aidan looked from Mirren to Robin and back again, then settled his gaze on Cage. “Looks like feeding from a shape-shifter is going to be a whole new adventure. I’d suggest Robin not be in rotation as a feeder until we can learn more about it. Cage, why don’t you research that for us?”
“Right.” Cage stroked his fingers up and down Robin’s arm, shoulder to elbow and back, until she finally stilled. He had no intention of letting another vampire anywhere near her.
CHAPTER 11
Mirren leaned against the wall of the common room and studied the looped fibers at the edge of the crimson rug. The stupid thing looked black to him, but Glory assured him it was red.
He might be color-blind, but he knew a fucked-up scene when he got in the middle of one—and bonding with the little shifter had been one fucked-up scene.
It hadn’t occurred to him—or to Aidan, either, obviously—that bonding a shifter would be any different from bonding a human. But this bonding had blown his mind. It hadn’t been sexual, exactly. Mirren had no desire to fuck Robin’s brains out like he did when he fed from Glory, not that this had been a real feeding. It had been two sips—one more than he should have taken. He couldn’t help himself.