Runaway Vampire (Argeneau, #23)(65)
The hotel room door opened suddenly and Mary stiffened and glanced to it with alarm. Her alarm did not ease when she saw two men entering, one fair haired, and one with dark hair, but both tall and strong-looking. Standing, she started to move toward the bed to wake Dante, but was caught by the arm just as she bent to shake his shoulder.
“Let him sleep. He has been without it for days while watching over you.”
Mary turned slowly and stared at the fair-haired man who had somehow crossed the room so quickly. Her gaze then zeroed in on his eyes, noting the golden color and sheen to them and she asked uncertainly, “Are you—?”
“Friend not foe,” he assured her with a smile that made the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle. Releasing her arm, he offered her his hand, and introduced himself. “Russell Renart Argeneau Jones.”
“Argeneau,” she murmured, accepting his hand and shaking it. “Like that Lucian fellow.”
“He is my great uncle,” Russell confirmed. “My grandfather, Ennius Argeneau, was one of his younger brothers.”
“Oh,” she said simply. Mary could hardly tell the man that she didn’t like his great uncle.
“Do not worry. Most people do not like Lucian,” Russell said with amusement as if she’d spoken aloud.
Mary’s eyes widened and then she glanced to the man with dark hair as he appeared beside them. His eyes were a deep brown with shiny flecks of metallic bronze in them. Both men were obviously immortals then, she reassured herself as he said dryly, “Lucian is an antiquated ass who has no idea how to be civil.” He wrinkled his nose, and then added almost reluctantly, “Sadly, he is also one of the best people you could ever have on your side.”
“Why?” Mary asked dubiously.
“Because he is frightfully strong,” the man said solemnly. “In character as well as physical strength. He always judges fairly, always does what needs doing, and, if he approves of you or your cause, he will fight to the death for you.”
“Oh,” she breathed and had to admit that sounded pretty admirable, which was a shame; it made it harder to dislike him, and Mary really hadn’t liked him by the time she’d finished the one and only conversation she’d had with him. She did not enjoy being threatened, by anyone.
“This is Francis,” Russell introduced quietly.
“Francis Renart Argeneau Jones,” Francis said, extending his hand now as well.
Mary raised her eyebrows over the shared last names, and as she shook the offered hand, asked, “Are you brothers or something then?”
Russell exchanged a glance with Francis and they both smiled faintly, before the fair-haired man took her arm to urge her away from the bed.
“Or something,” Russell murmured, as he led her to the chairs by the table. There were only two chairs. He urged Mary into one, held the other for Francis to sit down, and then bent to press a kiss to his neck before moving to lean against the window ledge next to the table.
Mary glanced from one man to the other as they shared an affectionate smile and breathed, “Ohhhhh,” with sudden understanding.
Francis chuckled at her wide-eyed look. “You are not scandalized.”
It wasn’t a question.
“And you are not disgusted,” Russell said with equal certainty.
Mary blinked at the comment. “Of course not. Why would I be disgusted?”
Russell shrugged mildly. “Some people are.”
Mary clucked with irritation. “Some people need to keep their minds out of your pants then.”
Both men blinked briefly, then burst into laughter that they both quickly quelled when Dante murmured sleepily and turned on his side in bed.
They were silent for a moment, each of them practically holding their breath as they peered at Dante, but when he didn’t stir again, they relaxed and glanced at each other.
“I like that,” Francis said quietly, and then echoed her words slowly as if savoring them. “Some people need to keep their minds out of your pants then.”
“Well, they do,” she said quietly. “Love is love and shouldn’t upset anyone. So what else are they thinking about when they get upset at your partner preferences?” she asked reasonably, and then answered the question herself. “Their minds are in your pants and on what you do. And while they’re welcome to bury their brain in their own pants, they have no business in yours.”
Francis glanced to Russell and grinned. “I like her.”
“Me too,” Russell said with a smile.
Mary blushed and turned to glance at Dante for a minute, but then turned back and asked, “You said Dante hasn’t slept for a while?”
“This is the first time he has slept since the accident,” Russell said solemnly. “He watched over you throughout your turn. We helped of course, but we did take breaks, and we offered to spot him so that he could rest as well, but he refused to leave your side even for a twenty-minute nap.”
Mary turned to peer at Dante again at this news, her eyes traveling slowly over his sweet face in repose. The man must have been exhausted when he’d finally collapsed that first time they had sex, and yet he’d not made a single complaint when she’d woken him up for another go round . . . or for the third one, or the fourth. Mary felt bad about her greediness now. She almost felt like she should apologize to him . . . except she’d have to wake him up to do so.