The alarm went off next to his head like a gunshot, the shrill electronic beeping goosing him in the ass as he jumped up and panted.
The fire was long dead, not even embers remaining, and the cottage's living room was cold as the inside of a refrigerator. He'd crashed in the clothes he'd been wearing after he'd left Elise's, only a leather jacket pulled over his torso holding any of his body heat in.
His joints were stiff.
And what do you know, they weren't the only thing.
Rearranging himself, because it was either hands down the pants or he was walking like Quasimodo, he went up to the bathroom on the second floor and cranked on the hot water. Backing out, and shutting the door so that shit would warm up in there, he got a change of clothes, remembering everything from the socks to the combat boots-- and then only started to strip when he was locked in with the humidity.
The first thing you learned about living in upstate New York during the winter with no heat was that you made sure you had what you needed before you got yourself wet. A dripping trip back to your room for a forgotten whatever was like cozying up to an electrical fence.
As shower stalls went, the one he stepped into naked was approximately the size of a salt shaker, its narrow plastic walls--which were about as structurally reliable as a Barbie playhouse's--offering shocks of cold if you didn't watch where you stood. The water was bliss, though, and he lifted his face to the roasty-toasty rush, letting it fall down his shoulders and his chest, his back and his ass.
It didn't take him long to find the soap.
And where he went with it wasn't good.
But his erection was killing him and it was getting worse instead of better as the caressing sensation of the spray got magnified and modified in his head, his faulty gray matter translating it into Elise's hands, lips, tongue.
He was thick and heavy in his own palm, hard and unyielding as he gripped himself, and on the first stroke, he saw Elise's face clear as day in his mind. And yeah, he told himself he should feel guilty for this, and he did. There was something nasty about jerking off to her when they had both drawn the line the night before.
His need for an orgasm was so strong, though, it wasn't going to be denied.
Leaning to the side, Axe got a pump going and had to put his head into his bicep, his fangs scoring his own flesh as he went faster and faster. Heat roared through him along with more images of that female from the cigar bar and even her father's study.
Which was so wrong.
But good luck trying to stop a speeding train with nothing except hand motions.
Hardy-har-har.
The pleasure was razor sharp, nearly unbearable and impossible to deny at the same time--and the release, when it racked through him, bent his spine back so hard, he hit his head on the rear shower wall.
He said her name. Loudly.
And he couldn't stop after it was through.
Before Axe could even recover, the tide was rising again, his hand continuing to work himself out, the sensations surging until his teeth were gritted, and his neck was straining, and his entire body was clenching up....
--
Wonder what Axwelle was doing? Elise thought as she stepped out of her shower and wrapped herself in a towel.
The heated marble floor turned the sparkling-white bath mat into a toasty foot pad, and she took her time drying off, wrapping her hair up, and drawing on her thick terry-cloth robe. Aware of an excitement bubbling under her skin, she put on leggings and a different cashmere sweater that was blue as the ocean; then not only hit the blow-dryer, but also the curling iron.
She even threw a little eyeliner and mascara on at her vanity.
About a half hour later, she was wearing her coat and backpack and heading out of her room, spring-in-her-stepping it down the corridor--
When she came up to her cousin's closed door, she hesitated. And wondered whether or not a bodyguard would have helped Allishon. Would being guarded by a soldier have kept her alive?
The answer to that would be easier if Elise knew what had killed the female.
There was no time to get into a cognitive lock about all that, though. She hurried down to the first floor and all but tiptoed past the open door to her father's study in case he decided to recant the whole with-my-blessing thing. But then she remembered. It was Wednesday night. He had his long-standing bridge tournament.
Just as well.
Outside, the night was unseasonably warm, the kind of thing that made her think that the humans with their climate-change theories might be onto something.
And Axe was right where he'd texted he would be, standing just outside the circle of illumination of the second lantern down the walkway.
She went toward him.
"Hi," she said softly. "I'm glad you came for me."
He coughed a couple of times and shifted his weight in his boots. "Yeah. I said I would."
"Let's do this. Right to the library. I sent your phone the link to the address?"
"I know where we're going."
It took a little longer than usual for her to dematerialize...because he had clearly just showered and he'd come with his hair wet, the soap he'd used tinting the night air with something spicy and delicious.
God, he smelled amazing.
With an inner curse, she forced herself to focus and was off, re-forming miles from her house, in the shadows next to the library's main entrance. Axe traveled right with her, his massive body materializing next to hers a split second later.
"We're going in over here," she said needlessly.
"I'll be staying back, but not out of range."
"Okay--wait, why are you here?" She waved her hand around. "I mean, what should I tell my professor?"
"Why do you have to tell the old guy anything? It's no one else's business."
"Like people aren't going to notice you?" She laughed a little. "You're about as invisible as a semi."
"Doesn't mean you have to explain anything."
As she looked up at his intractable face, she respected how unconcerned he was with what others thought. It was a nice change from all the glymera group-think she lived with. "You know, growing up in my family, everything had to be proper, and anything that wasn't--"
He walked by her, cutting her off. "Come on, let's do this."
With a frown, she caught up with him. "You don't have to be rude."
"I don't have to be your friend, either. I've got a job to do, and that's keep you alive. I'm not here to socialize."
So much for starting off on the right foot, she thought, as she pushed open one side of the glass double doors and strode into the library's lobby.
In spite of the fact that she had been using the facility for years, she looked around with fresh eyes, noting that the place was the color of oatmeal, everything from the short-napped, wear-like-iron rug, to the washed-out color of the reception desk, to the anemic drapes by the card catalogues like something you'd find in a breakfast bowl.
"We usually meet down here."
Leading the way, she took her bodyguard past the banks of computers over on the left and then down a distance of stacks to the third open area of tables and chairs.
Troy was back again where she had left him with those two female students the night before, facing away from her, piles of finals papers fanned out everywhere, his scarf and parka shoved into the chair beside him.
Kicking her chin up, she strode in his direction, and when she came up to the table, she put on her widest smile. "Hi."
Tory did a double take as he glanced up. "Ah...hello..."
For the first time, he shoved his chair back and made like he was going to stand up to greet her--but she motioned him to stay where he was.
"So I'm happy to report that I'm back in business," she announced as she put her things down across from him and took a seat. "You're not getting rid of me after all."
"I don't..." He shook his head as if he were clearing it. "I don't want to get rid of you."
/>
She flushed as he didn't look away from her. "Yes, my father has seen the light. So what do you need me to help with tonight?"
"I...um..."
Elise made a show of fishing into her backpack for her red pens and notepad. "I think we were close to your being done? If that's true, maybe we can talk about my concluding chapter? And then I think I'm ready for a final review of--"
When Troy continued to stammer, she glanced up to see what was wrong.
Oh.
He was wide-eyed and pale as he looked up at Axe.
Who was standing over the human like he was measuring her professor for a death shroud.
hat the hell kind of professor is this, Axe thought as he loomed over the human waste of space with the hipster clothes, the full head of hair, and the come-hither-you-college-coed eyes.
Professors were supposed to be old, bushy-browed, tweed-wearing anachronisms, the kind of males where, even on a deserted island with the fate of the race in jeopardy, no female would ever look twice at them, much less consider procreating with them without a loaded gun to the head.
Oh, and then top off all the totally-not-old-and-elbow-padded with the fact that the miserable bastard had been staring at Elise like she was the single most gorgeous female on the planet?
Which, fine. Was true.
But still.
He needed to kill the bastard right here, right now--
"Oh, I'm sorry," Elise said quickly. "This is my, ah, he's my--"
"Bodyguard," Axe snapped. "I'm here to keep punks away from her."
And how'd you like a demonstration, you pencil-necked psychology-spouting whatever-the-fuck. How 'bout I break both your thighbones and use the splintered end of one of them to clean my teeth--after I rip your throat out with my canines--
"This is Axe," Elise cut in as she shot him a glare. "He's just here to make my father feel comfortable. I am well aware there are no real threats against me."
"Well...ah..." Mr. Professor pulled at the collar of his shirt. "So, um, actually, there have been a number of shootings on college campuses in the last couple of years. I, ah, I can see how...um...that would be distressing to a father...."
Distressing?
This guy actually used the word distressing.
Yeah, you want distressing, Axe thought, how about I hang you out a third-floor window from your cute little pair of Merrells until you scream like a soprano and your libido falls out of the top of your head--
"Axe," Elise hissed as she jumped out of her chair. "Will you come with me?"
Grabbing him by the elbow, she smiled with determination at James Franco-lite. "Will you excuse us for a moment. We'll be right back."
Axe was more than happy to follow her, because he had a few things to say, too.
She frog-marched him back farther into the stacks and shoved him against a line-up of books on the American Revolution.
With a jab, she shoved her finger in his face. "Lose the attitude or you can leave."
"Excuse me?" he ground out. "I'm not the one who's dating a human. If you'd been up front with me in the first place about why you wanted to come here, I would have appreciated it. Especially after your holier-than-thou 'honesty is all I want from you' bullshit. Or, wait, maybe you're like your cousin Peyton and believe commoners like me are so second class, there actually is no hypocrisy when you lie to us."
"I am not dating Troy!"
"Troy. His name is Troy."
"What's wrong with that? It's a perfectly nice name!"
"I'm not touching that one--"
"Don't be an ass! And there is nothing going on between us!"
"Oh, come on. I saw the way he looked at you. And this..." He motioned around her face. "With the hair and the makeup? It's all for him, isn't it. You got yourself dolled up for your little boyfriend, didn't you."
"I did not! And he's not my--"
"Where's that honesty, sweetheart--"
"Okay, you did not just 'sweetheart' me--"
"What do you want me to call you, 'Professor?' 'Cuz that title's already taken by Troy--"
"You were growling! You were standing over him and growling!"
Okay, that got through to him. And she was not finished. Leaning in so close that she was practically rock-climbing up his chest, she nailed him with that forefinger again.
"You were about two inches and one giant testosterone surge away from baring your fangs and killing him!"
"I was not!"
They were both screaming at each other--at stage-whisper volume. Which was ridiculous, but at least they were alone back here.
"Show me," she spat.
"What?"
She grabbed his upper lip like he was a horse and cranked it up over his head. "See!" More with that damn finger. "Your canines are totally descended--and let me tell you, the last thing in the world I need is for my bodyguard to rip the throat out of the very reason I'm bothering to put up with his sorry ass! You back off or I will get someone else!"
Axe ripped his mouth out of her hold and jacked forward on his hips. "Don't put your hands on me again."
"I didn't want to touch you in the first place--"
"Liar."
She recoiled as if he'd cursed at her. But she recovered quick. "You're jealous."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"You didn't like the way he was looking at me. Admit it. And if you try to deny that you want me, may I remind you of your 'attraction working in our favor' speech last night. You remember, you were sitting at the foot of my bed? You were quite articulate about it all."
As she arched a superior, pure-as-the-driven-snow brow at him, Axe seriously wanted to shoot something. Maybe her. Maybe himself. Very definitely "Troy." "You know, right now, I'm seriously reconsidering your cousin's offer to pay me to stay away from you."
Elise opened her mouth as if she were going to stay on her roll--but then clamped it closed as if the words he'd spoken had sunk in on a delay.
"Peyton did what?"
"He came to my house last night and told me I wasn't allowed to take this job, and when I told him to fuck off, he said whatever your father is paying me he'll double, triple, Powerball the salary."
"Why would he do that?" she mumbled as if she couldn't fathom any kind of "why."
"Because people like me are only allowed to fix your house or your car or work in your garden." Okay, now he was getting worked up again. "We don't matter to people like you. We're just another commodity to be bartered back and forth over--"
"That is absolutely not true!"
Before he could stop himself, Axe sneered, "Oh, really? Well, would you like to know how my father died in the raids? I'd be just goddamned thrilled to tell you, given that you're all about the fucking talking. My father is dead because the aristocrats he was working for locked all of the staff and the carpenters out of the safe room. So when the slayers came, the riff-raff were all slaughtered, even though there was plenty of room for them. They pounded on the fucking door, begged to be allowed in, but your people let them die. That's how my only family was killed. And that's the exact same attitude that makes your fuck-twit of a cousin think he can buy me off and allows you to preach honesty while you're blowing smoke up my ass about what you're doing with your professor over there."
There was a long, tense silence.
And then Elise cleared her throat. "I am sincerely sorry for your loss. That is an unbelievable tragedy."
He laughed with a harsh curse. "Did your fancy psych degree give you those two sentences on a card to memorize during your Grief Seminar? Or was it your Placating the Lower Class survey course."
Elise crossed her arms over her chest and just stared at him. And the longer she did, the more he felt like turning away from her and leaving.
He wasn't really sure why he stayed.
"I don't think this is going to work," she muttered.
"Yeah, I think you're right. And it's probably the only thing we're ever going to agree on."
br /> As she turned her head away from him, he had to ignore how perfect her profile was. But then she opened her mouth again...and laid him out flat on the floor.
Even though she didn't make any physical contact with him.
"The makeup was for you. Not him. And congratulations, you're fired. Hope you enjoy wallowing in your misogyny and self-righteous prejudice. Clearly, you get a lot out of both."
On that note, she lifted her chin and waltzed off. Like she owned the place. Naturally--
Wait. What had she just said about the makeup?????
--
As Elise marched away from Asswell--Axwelle, she corrected in her head--she couldn't figure out who she was more pissed off at.
Which, considering how badly he'd behaved, was really saying something.
The award for Biggest Douche Bag on the Planet was a toss-up between him and Peyton. Him, because he was so outrageously offensive she really wanted to call on what little self-defense she knew and knee him in the balls--on the theory that the ranting and raving he'd thrown around back there could only be improved upon with the addition of a helium voice. And Peyton, because it was so completely inappropriate for her cousin to try and buy off anyone, much less a fellow trainee doing a job for somebody else.
Although, really, it wasn't like it was going to work--
Axe materialized right in front of her, so much out of thin air that she yelped and jumped back.
And then she realized what he'd done. In a human place.
"Are you insane?" She glanced around to see if anyone had caught the ghosting. "You can't do that in here!"
"Like the books are going to have an opinion?" But he shook his head and cursed. "Look, I'm sorry, okay. I'm really...sorry."
He met her eyes without flinching, and he had the grace to seem seriously sincere. "I'm not good at..."
She waited for him to finish. And when he honestly seemed to struggle, she debated just leaving him where he stood. 'Cuz he deserved it.
"Go on," she muttered. "I'm listening."
"The whole relating thing. I'm not a social creature."
"Really. You don't say."
"It's true."
There was a pause. And as it turned into a serious stretch of quiet, she wasn't going to help him out. Either he proved, right here and now, that he was more than a hotheaded thug with poor impulse control and the aforementioned self-righteous misogyny, or she was going to find another solution.