His Sweet Prince (The Hellfire Vampires Bloodline (Standalone Vampire Romance) Book 2) by Jaggart Jae T

Author:Jaggart, Jae T. [Jaggart, Jae T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 12wrk, 3P, M/M
Published: 2014-11-07T07:00:00+00:00

there are shifters & then there are shifters

They’d made a mistake.

They all had.

“Full moon tonight,” Grisha murmured against his ear. “Extra strength. Extra power.” Easton shifted, startled. Dragged back from his smutty reminiscences. Under the cover of the blanket, he’d thought from Grisha’s stilled body, his slow, even breathing, that he was asleep. But then Grisha made some sound, a vicious growl of sheer pain, abruptly yanked away from Easton and lay on his back, panting like an animal. Easton went to throw the light-shielding blanket aside, shove it away and see what had happened to the man he’d played some very adult games with not much more than an hour or ago, it seemed, but Grisha stopped him, caught his wrist in a bruising, damned near breaking grip–

“No–” he hissed.

Easton lay on his side, arm upraised, then slowly lowered. In the woven, filtered light, he stared at Grisha, protected, hidden by the scratchy, rank blanket, and felt the breath still tight in his lungs.

Just what the hell–

Grisha was gasping, as if in terrible pain, muscular frame arching. Jaw gritted.

If Easton had heard bones crunching, breaking, it would have fitted.

Something was happening to Grisha’s face, his body, everything–

As Easton began to understand exactly what was happening, he knew. That blanket hadn’t been pulled over them both so carefully to hide Easton from the glaring light that he might sleep. That blanket had been pulled over them both to hide exactly what transformation was going to occur.

Yeah, there were cameras in here. They’d caught two men fucking around. A blowjob by the sink. Some grinding. Dozing a little. Later, Grisha throwing that blanket over their heads to hide from the harsh glare of that twenty-four hour a day fluorescent light.

Business as usual, nothing to raise suspicions, instead, everything to lull them–

Shifter.

Yeah, Grisha was a shifter, alright. Just more than the kind he’d seen so far.

Werewolves. Wasn’t that what lycans were? Wasn’t that what shifter meant?

So for fuck’s sake what was he looking at, this molten, moving, undulating being in front of him, elastic, a chameleon?

Yeah, a chameleon that had taken on his shape.

Because he was, abruptly, looking at himself. A twin of himself.

Golden-red hair, still glowing in the dimmed light. Pale skin. Wide set hazel eyes, a pouting, full mouth. Shit. Grisha gone, himself there. An anger, an incredible anger flooded through him.

Easton was a supernatural being. He could adjust to any shock the universe threw at him. He could adjust to anyfuckingthing.

But the sense that somehow, he had been used–

So much for all those smooth, sexed up, seductive words about bonding, and possibilities–

He really was a goddamned idiot.

“You shit, Grisha–”

The words were caught by the hand slammed over his mouth, pushing him back into the pillow. His own face leant, expressionless, over his.

Those wide hazel eyes were unblinking. Was this the last thing his marks saw?

Innocence bringing them death? But then his reflections lips parted, and Grisha murmured very softly, in a fair copy of his own voice, “I forgot to mention.

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