The house was full that night. The sentinels slept in the living room, three piled on the couch, one on the love-seat and two on the floor. Jaylin still hadn’t learned their names or their stories, but he hoped to.
Too drunk to drive, Tisper’s car was taken home by Matt after signing Quentin’s NDA. The rules would have to be implied to Tisper again once she was sober.
The NDA consisted of seven different laws, created especially for humans caught in such a predicament.
The first rule of integration said that humans may not speak of wolf to those who are not wolf and “especially those who have no prior knowledge of the wolf society”.
The second said that human may not aim to purposefully becomewolf, regardless of a willing donor.
Thirdly was the rule of obedience. Just as wolves, humans were expected to obey the wolf they’d signed under. Quentin laughed when he read this one out loud. “Some of these rules are a little archaic.”
The fourth rule said that humans were not to become romantically involved with a werewolf. Jaylinfound himself gnawing on his lip as Quentin spoke this one allowed. These things happened anyways, didn’t they? It had certainly happened to Anna.
Fifth was the banishing of evidential devices. This meant that humans were never to take video or photo evidence of a werewolf—whether they had the intent to spread it or not.
The sixth rule seemed kind of obvious. Humans involved in the wolf society were not to harm or kill a wolf or Alpha. But according to Quentin, this rule is one of the most frequently broken. Many humans attack out of panic, he said. Some flee to join the “Hunter’s Corp”, or other rebel company. When Jaylin asked what the Hunter’s Corp was, Quentin looked bothered by the question.
“Werewolf killers,” Alex answered for him. Quentin moved on to the next rule.
The seventh was the rule of preservation; no human who takes part in the wolf society shall harm a natural, living, breathing wolf. Jaylin didn’t understand why this was an important rule, but seeing as wolves had been eradicated from the Pacific North West almost a century ago, it’d be almost impossible to break.
Sadie signed with more understanding than Jaylin expected. Matt had to be coaxed into it, but ultimately, he decided it wouldn’t matter; that none of this was real anyways. And so long as he revealed nothing, no one had any objections to his theory.
Tisper had fallen asleep before she had the chance. She was offered a guest room, but Jaylin objected. “Put her in my room so I can explain everything to her when she wakes up,” he’d told Mrs. Sigvard. In reality, he just wanted to be close to her. There was a comfort in sharing the same sheets with Tisper. Some of their deepest conversations had been spoken with but a pillow between them.
She was helped upstairs by two of the Sentinels and Jaylin remained in his place at the table, watching the fire dance on Mrs. Sigvard’s wax candles.
“Jaylin,” he’d heard his name called from the doorway of the dining room. “Blow those out.” Quentin was leaning against the arched walkway with his strong arms crossed, biceps pushing the threads of his cotton sleeves. “Come with me.” Then he turned and began to walk off, no time for a reply.
He doesn’t need one, Jaylin thought as he fumbled out of his chair and puffed out the candle sticks. It was in everything. The way he talked and moved and commanded his own with the point and pull of his finger. Quentin knew he was power. Maybe it hadn’t gone to his head, but he knew damn well that he was an alpha. A king. And Jaylin was so eager to swear his allegiance.
He had to cling to the furniture as he worked his way to the staircase, where Quentin had already disappeared around the bend. He was waiting for Jaylin a ways down the hall, hands tucked in his jean pockets.
As Jaylin caught up, he turned and slipped through an open door to his left. Jaylin recognized the painting on the wall beside it—this was one of the rooms he hadn’t visited yet. But as he stepped in after Quentin, there was a familiar comfort about it.
The room was shaped in a circle, books on every inch of the orotund wall. In the center sat two leather reading chairs and a small round end table with a single bouquet of roses. Imani sat in the first, one long, toned, sun-baked leg crossed over the other, fingers dancing down a petal of a rose beside her, her impressive body adorned in nothing but an oversize men’s T-shirt. One a bit too large for Alex. One that probably belonged to Quentin.
Jaylin felt a flood of jealousy pang through him. It was unwarranted, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop himself from scowling. You’re telling me Lisa Sigvard had nothing that would fit her?
“Take a seat,” Quentin told him, and Jaylin was grateful once his weight was off of his numb foot and melting into the comfort of a leather recliner. “There’s something we need to discuss, and if you really want to be as involved as you say, then I feel it isn’t right to discuss it without you.”
“There are scouts in my land,” Imani said in her rich and prideful voice, plucking a wine glass from the table and stirring it under the metal clank of her pewter ring. “Now that your brilliant alpha has decided to stop coddling his little monster, you should know that hundreds of scouts have taken camp on the border between territories. They’re willing to travel hundreds of miles to find you, and then retreat back to their barracks each night with their tails between their legs.”
“Hundreds?” Jaylin choked on the word.
“Just… a ballpark estimate.” Somehow Quentin’s smile was soothing, even now. Even knowing there were battalions of wolves like Eduardo, eager to get their hands on him, Jaylin clung to the comfort of his smile.
“The only way to combat this is to post all of my sentinels to the East,” Quentin said, “and to expand my territories in hopes of flushing them out.”
“Hundreds,” Jaylin balked. “There are hundreds of scouts after me? How are you going to fight them off? Jesus Christ, what if someone gets hurt? What if—”
Quentin rose from his seat and moved closer, planting his hands on the arms of Jaylin’s chair. And much too close, he said, “Didn’t I promise? Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
And again, like every time before, Jaylin believed him.
But in the hours that passed, sleep escaped him. Jaylin couldn’t calm his nerves. They were live wires, zapping and cracking in his head for each time he shut his eyes. It didn’t help that Tisper slept beside him, snoring into a pool of her own drool.
He crept from his room and chanced a look down the hall where Lillabeth was carrying fresh bedding into Imani’s temporary room. And just across from that, Quentin’s door rested open an inch—just enough to bleed out a crack of golden ambiance into an otherwise drab hallway.
He couldn’t see him inside, but Jaylin knew he was there.
Quentin was like a siren. One that didn’t sing. One that didn’t hypnotize you with spells or smiles. One that didn’t acknowledge you at all. But each time Jaylin felt him close, it was a rush—a feeling of falling. The fraction of a second between the time your foot leaves the ground and your skull his the pavement. Quentin was the fear of effect, the anticipation for pain. But it was so addicting to fall.
Jaylin stood at his door, knuckles against the wood. He listened first, planned to knock if he’d heard Quentin inside. But it was silent, so instead of announcing himself, Jaylin gave the door a gentle push.
Quentin towered over a corner table just beside a set of dresser drawers. He was scribbling something down in a booklet—a planner, Jaylin thought as he gave it a second glance.
“Still can’t sleep?” Quentin asked, removing a pair of reading glasses from the bridge of his nose and folding them delicately in his hands. Something about the sight made Jaylin wonder if a werewolf really needed reading glasses—or if Quentin just knew he looked so good in them, he wore them to satisfy his own ego. Probably the last part.
Jaylin swallowed down his heavy heartbeat. “I’m not sure there’s a point now. It’ll be morning soon.”
“You worked nights, didn’t you? You should be used to it.” Quentin said, moving to his closet door. “Come in. Close that, I’ve been listening to Imani abuse my maids for twenty minutes now. I’m going to have to buy them all Ferraris for putting up with her temper.”
Jaylin watched him on the opposite wall—the reflection of his back in the large vanity mirrors. He stepped inside and shut the door, seating himself at the foot of the bed while Quentin fanned through the shirts in his dresser. Jaylin was taken aback by the technology of it. Quentin pressed a single button and one after another, formal shirts and jackets carouselled themselves forward. “How’s your leg? You’ve been walking more,” Quentin asked, selecting a gray dress shirt from the line-up.
“It’s… better. What are you doing?” Jaylin asked, watching as Quentin tossed the top onto his bed. “Are you going out? You haven’t slept.”
“I have to meet with Leo,” Quentin said. “Beg him to change his mind about my offer.” Then he reached down for the hem of his shirt, arms raised as he shed it off over his head. Jaylin watched in awe at the body he’d unwrapped. Like a gift to the fucking world.
He turned away, leaving Jaylin with only the fluid muscles of his back to ogle. Then Quentin hit another button that brought out a myriad of ties, all different colors, some only a fraction of a shade lighter than the one before.
For a moment, Quentin stopped what he was doing and braced himself against the wall. “You really do excite easily,” he said, his back still to Jaylin.
Jaylin shifted uneasily. “What?”
“Your heartbeat, Jaylin. It’s giving me anxiety.”
Jaylin sucked in a panicked breath. “What? No—You just freak me out, that’s all.”
“Then why are you here?” Quentin abandoned his search for a tie and turned to him, arms relaxed at his side, bare chest bronzed and glowing in the warm light of his bedside lamp. “In my bed,” he enunciated.
“I’m not in your bed, I’m on it. And you told me to come in,” Jaylin stammered much too quickly. He could feel the heat in his face, he only prayed Quentin couldn’t see it. “I told you I couldn’t sleep and no one else is awake. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Quentin reached into his closet, selected a watch from a small display and wrapped it around his wrist. “So it has nothing to do with me?” The watch latched into place with a click.
“No,” Jaylin lied. His heart stung in his throat. “You’re…a last resort. So stop jumping to conclusions.”
“Not a conclusion. It’s more of a hypothesis,” Quentin said, fingers brushing over the screen of the watch. Then he dropped his arms to his side and his dark gaze fell down on Jaylin. He’d never felt so much power in a single look before. So much control.
There was a stone was sitting in Jaylin’s throat. No matter how many times he swallowed, it wouldn’t go down. Maybe it was a thirst. No, definitely. It was definitely a thirst.
“One-fifteen,” Quentin said, glancing at his watch. Then he brought his hand down to the waist of his jeans. Jaylin watched with a paralyzing chill as Quentin jerked his belt free of the buckle, and slid the leather from around his waist. “One-twenty.”
Jaylin could feel his heart pick up. And he knew now that it was a pedometer around Quentin’s wrist, monitoring each and every beat of their harmonized hearts.
Then Quentin moved to the fly, fingers pushing the button through its slit, working down the zipper until the waistband of his underwear shown between the metal teeth.
“One-twenty-two,” Quentin said, gazing at the screen of his smart-watch. “One-twenty-five.”
It was a challenge for Jaylin, taking his eyes from the muscular curve of his Adonis belt, the sun-rich skin, the sexy, lazy way he laxed back as he left his fly open and studied the face of his device.
“One-thirty BPM,” Quentin said.
Jaylin threw himself up from the mattress. “This was a mistake.” He took a numb step towards the door, his ankle rolling under him. He stumbled for footing, dropping to the floor just as a much stronger hand caught him by the elbow. Quentin slung him back and Jaylin felt the mattress land under him, all else a blur but Quentin. He stood closer now, but Jaylin was afraid to look up. Afraid until Quentin took him under the jaw and forced him. And there was something in just seeing him that made Jaylin want to obey. Something that made him want to stare forever.
“You’re killing me with those eyes,” Quentin said, a hand planted into the mattress at Jaylin’s side, the other cupping his jaw like a glass of fine wine. Jaylin found himself stuck to the shape of his lips as Quentin drew him in closer. Control in the way he brought Jaylin up farther instead of leaning in himself. Not until he could feel Quentin’s nose brush his cheek or the heat of his breath, rushing Jaylin’s parted lips so eagerly, he could taste it on his tongue.
“Killing me,” he whispered against them, the softest touch brushing Jaylin’s lips.
Then Quentin kissed him.
A desire detonated in the pit of his stomach, livewires igniting sparks behind his eyes—shivers of adrenaline that burrowed into his blood and trembled the rawest parts of him. He threw his arms round Quentin’s neck, scrambling back against the bed for every inch Quentin advanced. Gone were the reefs. Jaylin was swept away by the whitecaps.
He knew it was a bad idea, that this wasn’t the time. That it was a stupid thing to let himself succumb to distraction while the Bad Moon was rising in the sky and the scouts were sniffing out his tracks. But once he felt Quentin’s kiss, Jaylin had no control over himself anymore. No control. No will to think of the repercussions, no strength to tear away from the mouth that sealed his own and too drunk on the taste to even try.
Quentin kissed like he’d been fasted of affections. Of sex and love and everything in between. Jaylin could do nothing but claw for more. His hands fisted in Quentin’s hair—his monstrous fingers curling through the locks, the other bringing Quentin in closer by the back of the neck. His lungs panged, but he didn’t need air. He didn’t need air. His back hit the mattress and Quentin was hunched over him, his knee setting into the bed between Jaylin’s legs, his fingers pushing up the shirt of his lower back, hungry for the skin beneath.
There was something sweet to that rough kiss of his. A bane on his tongue. And the taste of his poison consumed Jaylin. It melted him down to liquid in those gentle hands. But as kind as they usually were, Jaylin felt the harsh bite of fingernails in his back. He bowed up in Quentin’s palm. Up against his chest, desperate to bend his body in ways it never would, so long as it meant he’d be sealed against every curve of Quentin Bronx.
Then that warmth left him and reality whispered Jaylin awake. The ringing in his ears ebbed into the sound of soft beeping and he opened his eyes to Quentin’s startled expression.
Jaylin turned his head to the sound of the beeping, where the watch on Quentin’s wrist cried for attention. Slow down to decrease heart rate!
Quentin pulled himself off suddenly, chest rising and falling, a hand wiping up his heated face and into his hair. “Shit,” he said, clutching at disheveled locks. “Shit.”
Jaylin’s face burned—down his neck and shoulders, up the tips of his ears. “Shit? If it’s such a problem, why did you—”
“It’s not you,” Quentin said. He snatched his shirt from the bed and shoved his arms through the tailored sleeves. “I have to go, Leo’s waiting for me.” He didn’t bother to button the shirt before he was reaching for the door—but clutching the handle, Quentin paused. He turned back to Jaylin and there was something about the way he looked, so weak and full of want. He dropped his head with a humored breath and swung the door open. “You really are killing me,” Jaylin heard him say. Then he left, gone from the air like a specter.
Jaylin touched the hummingbird pulse in his throat and felt the noticeable decrease in speed. A moment ago, it beat so quickly it ached. Now it was a slow, steady gallop in his chest.
He couldn’t find it in him to be angry. To question the kiss or the motives behind it. All Jaylin could do was listen to the slow drumbeat that ticked against his ribs, and wonder where its furious cadence had gone.
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