Glass House

JORDAN

"...The guns are ready, Mr. Romano. Highly durable. With bullets..." The creature grinned with pride. "...One hundred percent made of sterling silver."

I reached out to the table, slowly picking up the weapon, letting my eyes trace the dull red lights bouncing off the metal edges.

Pretty...and deadly...like *him*.

It was an hour after I'd left the red room, buttoning up my shirt, wishing the booming beats would clear my head. But none of that helped, not even when I sat in a meeting surrounded by my favorite hobby.

Weapons. Pretty weapons.

"Mr. Romano." The hesitant interruption had me turning to the creature. I snarled, and he began to sputter, "I—I'm—jus—thought...if yo—won—won't mind, we—want the blo—blood."

Fucking fangfaces, blood leeches. I groaned inwardly, turning my gaze away, hoping to find a single sense of calm...normalcy.

There were three of them: pale-skinned, blood-hungry, sharp-toothed. They were the reason humans were almost extinct. The reason for my wealth.

"You'll get your blood." I finished, handing the gun behind me. It was immediately snatched up by my assistant.

I watched as their eyes sized her up, making no effort to hide their dripping fangs, the close taste of her humanity surrounding them, scarlet eyes brighter than the bulbs in the room.

These were the mad ones, the ones who had tasted the real thing instead of the supplements and couldn't go on without it.

But one day, none of it would be enough, and they would go hunting in bands. What would that mean...for Doc?

Lazily, I announced, "Ari, give it to them."

The vampires' hungry eyes shone even brighter, looking at me with gratitude. Just as they were about to turn to her to demand what was keeping her, the shots rang out.

Three quick detonations sent bodies sprawling back onto the settees, erasing the room of their fucking stench.

Silence. Then...

"Normally, you do the dirty work yourself." Ariel's amused voice cut through the room. "Let me guess, your boyfriend broke up with you?"

She appeared before me in leather pants and an oversized white T-shirt, bending down to pick up a cigar from the table. She chuckled. "I knew this day was coming, but what did you say? 'He needs me.'"

It was hard to look at her, knowing that once again, she was right and I was so damn wrong.

The lighter flicked on, and she continued happily, "All because you thought your dick was so damn good!"

She leaned back against the wall, crossing one leg over the other, puffing casually as if we hadn't just filled the room with corpses.

"He'll come back," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "He always comes back."

The smile left her face, and she stepped away from the wall, walking toward me. "Let him go, Jordan. Theodore doesn't belong here. Let him go now that he doesn't know what you did."

What I did? My gaze hardened, and I saw her flinch. What I did? It wasn't supposed to escalate! I made a fucking mistake that would live with me until I died.

A mistake I was still paying for. One he'd never know of.

But letting him leave? My jaw clenched.

I rose to my feet, leaving the meeting room, ignoring the hail behind me. Before long, I was back in the red room.

Staring at the passed-out, naked frame on the bed, the covers draped from his waist down. He was exhausted. We'd gone over and over until his whimpers were silent and his cries faint.

Just the way he liked it. But this time, it wasn't for his pleasure; it was to punish him for daring to leave me again.

Once again, I'm taking off my cufflinks, flinging the shirt onto the settee, and sliding in behind him.

My fingers traced the tattoo on his lower back—the one in the shape of a heart.

If I had known... I thought, as my fingers dug into his skin, pulling him into me so my dick pressed into his thighs... I would have drawn my name so he understood who owned him.

My teeth grazed his bruised neck, and he stirred.

"Jordan..." he breathed. "Jordan... I'm sore. I can't..."

"Hey." I pushed my thumb between his moist lips as my dick slid into his still-dripping hole. "Don't be selfish now."

He gasped, tensed, then melted into me. "Ugh, Jordan..."

It would be the last time I'd see him—or so he thought. I began to thrust, mouth feasting on his neck, the temptation to leave my mark tugging at me.

"Ngh, urgh, Jordan."

I leaned down, kissing his teary lids and staring into sea-blue eyes. Softening my touch for just a moment, I whispered, "Let's make this memorable."

"I can't..." he gasped again, weaker this time.

"You can, Doc," I whispered harshly in his ear, my breath hot against his damp skin. "You will. You always do."

He'd have to come back to me.

And if he didn't—I thrust harder—I'd just have to bring him back.

***

FENRIR

He came back two days after he left.

Urrgh, it'd been hard waiting for him.

Just when I thought of breaking out of the lab to find him myself, he appeared before the glass door, accompanied by an older doctor.

"Since you left, The Beta has refused anyone touching him," the woman was saying. "He's on the verge of spiraling. It won't be safe walking in there."

Yeah, I was spiraling. One look in the mirror last night, and there were my pupils, sliding down the slippery slope to blood-red.

Where was he? Where the fuck was he?!

Tada, there he was, in the flesh.

The giddy feeling clouded my rage, I rose to my feet, wishing more than ever I could just hug him.

But—

He was wearing a black turtleneck and black suit pants. He pushed his glasses up his nose, slightly shielding the stress circles around his eyes.

There was something different about him, something my knitted brows were figuring out.

The woman continued, "If you want, we can dose him with suppressants before you go in."

"Does it work?" Princey asked.

The woman shook her head apologetically. "Not as much as we'd hope."

Princey took one long look at me and nodded respectfully to the woman. "I can manage. I'll give the guards a call if things get out of control."

The woman gave him a small smile and quietly left.

And he opened the door. He walked in, shutting the door behind him.

And there I realized what felt different about him—it was his scent. My fingers clenched. It was mixed with someone else's.

I knew. I knew he had been lying. He was already lying to me. Couldn't he see?! Couldn't he sense me like I sensed him?!

'You shouldn't have let him go!' My wolf scraped at the back of my mind. I wanted to shut my eyes from the discomfort, but I was afraid that if I did, he'd be gone again. 'Someone touched him! Someone fucking touched him!'

Was that the reason for the turtleneck? I struggled not to let the hardness reach my eyes. He didn't know anything. At least, not yet.

"Fenrir?" He was in front of me, his eyes occasionally darting to the gas pipes surrounding the room. "How have you been?"

Those eyes had me rethinking myself. Maybe it wasn't what I thought. Maybe it was just a hug, and the person's scent had stuck, mixing with his.

But it was strong, harsh, and lingering. It wasn't just a hug...wasn't just a...

'Don't Be Stupid. He Was Fucked...hard.'

Something in my head snapped, and I shut my eyes, taking deep breaths, mentally counting to ten as Vidar had suggested would cure my insanity.

Never knew there'd come a day I'd be forced to take Vidar's advice.

Ha...seven...six...five...

Then I felt his touch on my shoulder, soft and tugging. "Are you okay?"

I wasn't! My lids flashed open, and I saw his pupils slightly dilate. I needed to do something...kill something...something that wasn't him.

Against my better judgment, I snatched up his wrist, rising to my feet. He stepped back but made no effort to pull his wrist away.

I inhaled again. Goddamnit, the strange scent stuck like a tattoo.

"Fenrir..."

My grip hardened. 'Who the fuck is he?'