So Qhuinn had given up and given in…and ended up sitting at this granite counter, getting stuffed tight as a piñata.
At least surrender was delicious, he thought a little later as he put his fork down and wiped his mouth.
“Here, sire, something for your dessert.”
“Oh, thanks, but—” Well, well, well, what do we have here: a bowl of coffee ice cream with hot fudge sauce all over it—no whipped cream or nuts. Just the way he liked it. “You really didn’t have to.”
“It is your favorite, no?”
“As a matter of fact, yeah.” And look, here was the silver spoon.
You know, it would be rude to let the stuff melt.
As Qhuinn started in on dessert, the stitches that Doc Jane had put in over his eyebrow began to throb under their bandage—and the pain reminded him of what a crazy-ass night it had been.
It seemed surreal to consider that an hour ago he’d been on the verge of death, dancing through the dark sky in a rattletrap piece-of-crap airplane he had no idea how to fly. Now? It was a case of Breyers’ best. With hot fudge.
And to think he was actually relieved there were no nuts or whipped cream to shave off lest his palate be ruined. Because, yeah, that was a serious-ass problem right there.
As his adrenaline glands burped and a shot of anxiety trembled along every nerve in his body, he knew damn well the aftershocks were going to come and go. Kinda like whiplash for his nervous system.
But dealing with a case of post-disaster heebs was helluva lot better than going up in flames. Or down, as the case would have been.
After part two of his meal was finished, he did his best to help clean up before he went to see Layla, but Fritz got into a flutter about him even trying to carry his bowl and spoon anywhere near the sink. Giving in yet again, he headed out through the dining room, and paused to look around at the long table, picturing everyone sitting in their usual chairs.
All that mattered was that Z was back safely in the arms of his shellan—and no one else had been injured—
“Excuse me, sire,” Fritz said as he hustled by. “The door.”
Up ahead in the foyer, the doggen went to the security check-in screen. A second later, he sprang the lock on the interior of the vestibule.
And in came Saxton.
Qhuinn hung back. The last thing he wanted to do was tangle with that male right now. He was going to check on Layla, and then crash out—
The scent that drifted over to him wasn’t right.
Frowning, he went over to the archway. Up ahead, his cousin chatted with Fritz for a moment and then started to walk toward the grand staircase.
Qhuinn inhaled deep, his nostrils flaring. Yeah, okay, that was Saxton’s fancy cologne…but there was another smell mingling with it. Another cologne was all over the male.
It was not Blay’s. Or anything the fighter would wear.
And then there was also the unmistakable scent of sex….
There was no conscious thought going on as Qhuinn marched out into the open and barked, “Where you been.”
His cousin halted. Looked over his shoulder. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me.” On closer goddamn inspection, it was really frickin’ obvious what the guy had been up to. His lips were red and there was a flush on his cheeks that Qhuinn was willing to bet had jack shit to do with the cold weather. “Where the fuck you been.”
“I don’t believe that’s any of your business, cousin.”
Qhuinn stalked over the mosaic floor, not stopping until his shitkickers were steel-toed to the guy’s pretty loafers. “You fucking slut.”
Saxton had the nerve to look bored. “No offense, dearest relation of mine, but I don’t have time for this.”
The guy pivoted around—
Qhuinn snapped a hand out and grabbed an arm. With a yank, he brought them nose-to-nose again. And shit, the stank on the guy made him sick to his fucking stomach.
“Blay is out risking his life in the war—and you’re fucking some random behind his back? Real classy, cocksucker—”
“Qhuinn, this is not your concern—”
Saxton tried to shove him off. Not a good idea. Before Qhuinn knew what he was doing, he locked his palms around the male’s throat.
“How fucking dare you,” he said with his fangs fully bared.
Saxton slapped both his hands on Qhuinn’s wrists and tried to get free, jerking, pulling, getting absolutely nowhere. “You’re…choking…me….”
“I should kill you right here, right now,” Qhuinn growled. “How the fuck could you do that to him? He’s in love with you—”
“Qhuinn…” The strangled voice grew thinner and thinner. “Qh—”