(there's also a werewolf)
CHAPTER SIX
Irrevocably
Orfeo
“If you think you earned some kind of brownie points for how you tricked the Supras into protecting us, you are pathetically mistaken.” Orfeo huffed. Droser Sundew wasn’t his favorite person at the moment.
“I just did what I thought was best for us.”
“There is no us.”
Droser flinched at his tone.
Good.
Before Droser could open his mouth again, Orfeo asked something that had been driving him crazy all night, “Star called you ‘the Maker.’ What did she mean by that?”
“Let me show you.” Droser pulled an ampoule from his jacket. The orange liquid glowed in the semi-darkness of their suite’s lounge.
“Are you a Deus dealer?”
“No. I created it. The dealers, well just Prussia now, get it from me.”
“You motherfucker.”
“Hey.” Droser put his hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to say that I created it to save the world and it went wrong. I was experimenting with the mucus of some Drosera plants. You know how scientists use their mucilage to elaborate tissue-connecting glue and other medical stuff. Well, I discovered that in certain combinations they become psychedelic stimulants to release endorphins in the highest levels known to mankind.”
“Save me the autobiography nonsense. The outcome’s a drug that keeps people like slaves.”
“That is not my fault.” Droser narrowed his eyes. “Each idiot knows why they go to it.” Then he flinched. “I didn’t mean Star…”
“I know what you meant.” Orfeo shook his head. Technically, it wasn’t Droser’s fault that Star was a drug addict. It was Orfeo’s fault for not doing anything to help her quit them. “You are just a frigging facilitator of commodities.”
“I’m a businessman.”
“You are a murderer,” Orfeo hissed. Did he really have the right to be calling Droser a murderer when he killed Supras for a living?
Supras were people too, had mothers and fathers and children that mourned them. Still, The Red Vanes only eliminated convicted Supras that escaped the justice system, so that had to count for something.
“It’s a bit hypocritical coming from you, isn’t it?” Droser smirked.
Orfeo’s body reacted to the smirk. Goose bumps sprouted, but he was able to suppress the shiver that would have followed in their wake. Even his traitorous nipples hardened. Never had his body reacted to a man in such a desperate way. He didn’t know if he wanted to shoot and quarter Droser or fuck him blind right there. “We can say we are no angels and call it even.” His voice sounded almost natural.
Droser cocked his head and studied him. The smirk turned into a saucy grin.
Shit. Bionic eyes.
“You’re watching my aura, aren’t you?”
“My enhancements assess more than auras,” Droser offered, shrugging.
His wayward body might be wanting to screw the living daylights out of Droser (and silently but inexorably convincing his mind), but the Supra’s involvement in their situation had given it a one-eighty turn straight to Crap Town, Alaska.
“Mister Lathan,” the suite’s computer pronounced officiously, “Mike Hardy is here to see you.”
Droser chuckled. “That dog is not going to stop until he has his nose buried in your ass.”
The Supras’ suite was two doors down from theirs, and Antha and Ashley had provided it with spells and enchantments to avoid unwelcome visitors. Mike had offered a more hands-on protection approach… A Machiavellian thought occurred to Orfeo. “Perhaps I’ll let him do more than sniff my hole.” Orfeo twisted his mouth as if he were actually considering it.
The change in Droser’s face was brutal and instantaneous. Before Orfeo could move out of the way, Droser had gripped his arms, shaking him. “You won’t!”
With a swift maneuver, Orfeo broke the hold and punched Droser in the face. “What? You still think that if we survive this trip to Mega-Vegas, we are on? That hovercraft crashed hours ago, asswipe.” He shook his hand, releasing some of the pain after its meeting with Droser’s mug.
Sprawled on the plush carpet, Droser touched his broken lip and looked at the blood left on his finger. “I didn’t know who my target was until after I met you.”
The sad part was that Orfeo believed him. Nobody was that good of an actor. He could not deny the things he saw in Droser’s eyes that afternoon in Prussia’s stairs— when they vid’d. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever this is— was,” he moved his hand to encompass them, “isn’t an option anymore.”
“There is always an option,” Droser said softly, sadly.
Orfeo closed his eyes and sighed.
“Mister Lathan, your visitor awaits,” the suite’s computer insisted softly.
“Let him in.”
“My, my,” said the Werewolf as he entered the lounge. He had showered and looked particularly dapper in a nice fitting red shirt and dark pants that accentuated every sexy bulge. He uttered (almost with relish), “Seems like enemies invading your quarters are unnecessary to start the punching party. I’m here to kiss those wounds better,” Mike offered, opening his arms grandly.
Orfeo chuckled. “You couldn’t be cheesier, even if you were stuffed with cheese.”
“Or hornier if he were covered in horns,” said Droser, who had produced a handkerchief and dabbed it on his lip.
“Now, puppies, you were fighting a moment ago. Don’t gang up on me… Well, I don’t mind—”
“Don’t say it,” Orfeo stopped him, raising his palm up. “Do you need something?”
“Are you offering?” Mike grinned. His eyes flashed with lecherous mirth.
“I asked if you needed, not if you wanted something. There’s a difference.” Orfeo offered a half smile to remove some harshness from his statement. He wasn’t keen on Supras, but Mike was entertaining in a corny way.
Maybe we can stuff him with corn.
“Just came to check on you, boys.” Mike browsed around. “Where’s Star?”
“She’s watching a movie.” Droser went to his feet.
Orfeo grabbed Mike by the arms and turned him toward the door. “All right, you checked. We are good. You can go now.” He spanked Mike once.
Mike jumped and guffawed. “I can get used to that.”
“Not in this lifetime, Mike!” yelled Droser behind them.
“A submissive Werewolf— that’s new,” Orfeo whispered in Mike’s ear.
“Liking pain is not necessarily about submission.” Mike looked at Orfeo sideways, his guttural voice making the statement sound like a threat.
“Still not going to happen, Wolf. See you later.” The door opened, and Orfeo pinched Mike’s ass. “For the road.”
“Tease,” Mike growled fondly.
Orfeo winked, and the door closed.
“Not happy about all that flirting,” Droser hissed, as Orfeo approached him.
“Your happiness’s the least of my concerns, Sundew.” Orfeo made a “give me that” motion. “Are you going to charge me for the Deus, mister businessman?”
Droser’s face crumbled for a second, just a blink. “I should.”
“And it’s your right. Although I must stress the fact that it is your fault that Star doesn’t have today’s dose, and because of that, we need to resort to this exchange.”
Wrong words.
“What are we exchanging?” Droser’s face brightened and Orfeo felt that obnoxious pang of desire surge— uninvited.
“I’m letting you live.”
“Oh.” Droser drew the ampoule from his pocket and put it in Orfeo’s hand. His fingers lingered longer than necessary.
What’s a blowjob between enemies?
No. What the fuck did this man do to him? Orfeo couldn’t seriously be contemplating that possibility amid this fucked-up situation, let alone with Star just a door away.
“Consider it a business expense.” Orfeo’s harsh tone wasn’t fooling Droser, who could frigging read his aura. Orfeo moved forward and kissed Droser, just a whisper of lips. He shook his head. “Perhaps, we were not meant to happen.” He turned around. “See you at sundown.”
He didn’t look back.
****
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