Sinking back against the pillows, he put his arm over his face. His heart was all hopscotch behind his sternum, and on some dim level, he realized he could actually kill himself if he kept going like this.
Funny, the idea struck him as not all that bad. Especially as Blay's face came to mind.
So beautiful. So very, very beautiful. It seemed silly and emasculating to call the guy that, but he was. Those damn lips were the problem ... nice and cushioned on the bottom. Or maybe the eyes? So fucking blue.
He'd kissed that mouth and loved it. Seen those eyes go wild.
He could have had Blay first - and only. But instead? His cousin ...
"Oh, God ..." he groaned.
"Sire. Eat."
Out of energy to fight anything, he did as he was told, opening up, chewing mechanically, swallowing down his dry throat. And then he did it again. And again. Turned out that the carbs quieted the earthquake zone in his stomach, and faster than he would have thought possible, he was actually looking forward to something a little more substantial. Next up on the menu, though, was just some bottled water, which Layla held while he took small sips.
"Maybe we should take a break," he said, holding off on another bread run just in case the tide turned.
As he rolled over onto his side, he felt the bones in his legs knock together and realized his arm was hanging differently across his chest - less pecs to get in the way. His Nike running shorts were likewise baggy at the waistband.
He'd done all this damage in seven days.
At this rate, he wasn't going to look like himself for much longer.
Screw that, he already didn't. As John Matthew had frickin' noticed, not only had he buzzed his head, he'd taken his eyebrow piercing out as well as the one on his lower lip and the dozen or so up his ears. Gone too were his nipple rings. He still had his tongue stud and the shit below, but the visi stuff was gone, gone, gone.
He was through with himself on so many levels. Sick and tired of being the odd man out on purpose. Exhausted with his slut reputation.
And uninterested in rebelling against a bunch of dead stiffs anymore. For fuck's sake, he didn't need some shrink to explain the psychology that had shaped him: His family had been all picture perfect, glymera-conservative - and payback had been a bisexual, metal-headed whore with a Goth wardrobe and a needle fetish. But how much of that shit was him and how much was a mismatched-eye-based mutiny?
Who the fuck was he really?
"More now?" Layla asked.
Wasn't that the question.
As the Chosen went front and center again with the baguette, Qhuinn decided to cut the shit. Opening his mouth, he pulled a baby bird and ate the damn stuff. And some more. And then like she read his mind, Layla brought a sterling-silver fork with a piece of roast beef on it to his lips.
"Let us try this, sire.... Chew slowly, however."
Fat. Chance. Starvation immediately became the name of the game and he went T. rex on the meat, nearly biting tines off in the rush. But Layla was right on it, feeding him another round as fast as he could take it in.
"Wait ... stop," he mumbled, afraid he was going to throw up.
He eased over onto his back again and let one hand rest on his chest. Shallow breaths were his savior. Anything deeper and he was going to pull a Technicolor yawn all over himself.
Layla's face appeared above his. "Sire ... perhaps we should cease."
Qhuinn narrowed his stare on her, and saw her properly for the first time since she'd shown up.
God, she was a looker, all that pale blond hair swept up high on her head, her face stunningly perfect. With strawberry lips and green eyes that were luminous in the lamplight, she was everything the race valued in terms of DNA - not a defect in sight.
He reached up and brushed at her chignon. So soft. No hair spray for her; it was as if the waves knew their job was to frame her features and they were eager to do their best.
"Sire?" she said as she tensed.
He knew what was under that robe of hers: Her breasts were absolutely stunning and her stomach flat as a board ... and those hips and the silky smooth sex between her thighs were the kinds