Thirst (Hellish #4)(23)
Kallus visibly swallowed. “Kiss me again, and we’ll see.”
Moving slow, Eirik drew Kallus closer. His lips tingled with anticipation. He was so close to having his mates again. He could practically taste the triumph.
A loud gasp sounded from the bed. At the sound, they scrambled from the couch. Baptiste sat straight up—like a shock raced through his body. He gasped for air while blinking rapidly as if trying to bring the room in to focus. Before Eirik could reach his side, Baptiste was gone.
Eirik and Kallus stopped in their tracks, staring the empty spot where Baptiste had been. Kallus turned in a circle as if physically and mentally searching for Baptiste. “He’s gone to Jonathan.”
Eirik nodded. “Give him a minute. I removed the block Celeste and I created in his mind. Let him think straight. If he doesn’t come back, we’ll go after him.”
Their gazes met. A silent conversation passed between them. Despite Eirik’s earlier bravado, they knew the truth. Baptiste might not ever forgive them.
Niall’s fingers brushed through Jonathan’s hair. Jonathan couldn’t tear his gaze away from his mate’s amazing eyes. He loved his dark warrior. Times like these, when they could enjoy one another uninterrupted, felt few and far between. Cin’s hand slid up Jonathan’s inner thigh, snaking up the inside of his workout shorts. Jonathan intentionally hadn’t worn underwear underneath. Not only did underwear not give as much if he spontaneously went full Nephilim, he loved watching the moment Cin realized he was free to toy with Jonathan’s body. It seemed crazy they were incapable of getting enough of one another. He understood this was how mating worked. It was a bond that grew stronger with every passing day. Still, it seemed he should be sick of being constantly touched. Instead, he craved more.
The alarm sounded, startling Jonathan’s heart into his throat. Baptiste appeared feet away, wearing nothing more than a blanket. Their gazes met, and Baptiste collapsed—unconscious. Cin scrambled to his feet. Lire, Dougal, and Faolan skidded into the room, only half as armed as last time, as if expecting to get sent away again. Instead, Jonathan waved them closer.
“It’s Baptiste.” He skimmed the man’s mind. “Whoa. Eirik removed the barrier from his mind. He’s a fucked-up mess in there. Let’s find a room for him.”
Niall scooped the man from the floor and carried him down the hall. They followed, equally ready to circle like a group of meddling hens.
“I thought Eirik was dead,” Dougal said behind him, reminding Jonathan he hadn’t shared what he’d learned with anyone.
“You can’t kill Eirik. He is the first-born son of Heimdall,” Baptiste said, proving—while still mostly out of it—he was awake. “As a full-blooded Norse god, he was given the task of being the guardian of Heaven’s door. He is the key between the worlds. Like energy, he can’t be destroyed, only transformed.”
Niall settled Baptiste on a guest bed. Baptiste leaned his back against the headboard and tried catching his breath. Jonathan kept a close eye on his every heartbeat. He didn’t want the man falling out again. Everyone stared at the man, hanging on his every word.
Dougal didn’t let up. “I don’t understand. What about Evan? I thought they were twins.”
Baptiste shook his head. “When Eirik died, Celeste retrieved his soul and shaped him into the first guard she encountered, Evan. She made him swear not to reveal anything to me. They told me they were Prampires, explaining how they had no need for blood.”
“Prampires died out centuries ago,” Faolan said, pointing out what they were all thinking.
“Actually, that’s not true. They’re just very good at staying hidden. But it was a good cover story, so I wouldn’t realize Evan is a werewolf, and explaining how Ethan could leech away my pain from losing my mates.”
“Obviously, he wasn’t really doing that,” Jonathan pointed out.
Baptiste rubbed his chest. “Yeah. I just hurt less when Eirik held me, even with him blocking himself from me.”
Lire shook his head. “I’m a demon, and the depth of betrayal here…”
“Aye,” Faolan said, sounding every bit as horrified.
“I know.” Baptiste’s voice sounded heavy with pain. He scrubbed at his arm and massaged his hands. Jonathan couldn’t believe the man’s mates would do this—leave him in this state.
Eirik and Kallus appeared on either side of Baptiste, stealing Jonathan’s chance to say as much. “I’m—once again—retrieving what’s mine,” Eirik said, obviously intent on disappearing with Baptiste again. The alarm was going nuts, making everyone deaf and Jonathan’s nerves bad. Before Eirik could get away, Jonathan shot forward and grabbed hold of Eirik and Kallus, keeping them from going anywhere.
“That’s enough of that. It’s about time you stayed still. I’m not putting up with this popping in and out all night.”
“No offense, but this is none of your business,” Eirik said, enraging Lire.
“Look here, I don’t give a damn what kind of god you are. You’re not allowed to insult our king.” Everyone tried yelling over everyone else, making Jonathan’s head pound.
“Enough,” Niall roared, slamming his fist down on the footboard of the bed and cracking the wood. Everyone fell silent. He wasn’t finished. “I’ve been gone two weeks,” he said, holding up two fingers. “All I want is to curl up with my men and enjoy some peace. Is that too much to ask? This is our home,” Niall said, fixing Kallus, Baptiste, and Eirik with his dark gaze. “Do you get that? Just because you’re powerful enough to go anywhere you like, doesn’t mean you should without asking.”