Page 20 of His Mate By Vengeance

“You want to know who the kind of person is who would pay a witch to ink a ‘creepy’ eye tattoo on their chest? The kind who worships at the altar of an eye for an eye. I always get my fucking vengeance,” he rasped before dredging up every last drop of his power to imbue his voice with a command they would be helpless to resist. “Now, keep one hand on me and use the other to shoot yourself in the head right through those ugly fucking eyeballs of yours.”

Three loud bangs sounded above him, and he found himself smothered under dead bodies that he was too weak to shift. Their final act of defiance was an attempt to stop him from escaping, even when they couldn’t resist his order.

“What the fuck was that?” a familiar voice hissed.

Stuttering breaths returned to his chest as the corpses were removed and he stared up at the form above him, backlit by the harsh fluorescent light of the warehouse.

“My Angel,” he whispered, as a face came into focus.

No one had ever come for him before. No one had ever saved him.

“I’mAngelo,” the shifter grumbled as he gently scooped him into his arms.

“You’re mine.”

His Angel’s scent must be a drug. That was the only reason he could think of that he would have willingly lost consciousness, entrusting his safety to a shifter of all people, while escaping a dangerous situation. The last thing he remembered was burrowing his nose into Angel’s delightfully firm chestand reminding himself that he was not allowed to take a bite. The damage to his body made him desperate for the sustenance to heal, but he was a vampire born, not some young, made vampire. He could control his appetite for blood, at least. Even if he had no intention of controlling his other appetites.

Speaking of which, as he stretched where he lay, he felt soft cotton and the comfort of a mattress beneath his aching naked flesh. A bed. That was good. Maybe he could get his Angel to come find him there because he didn’t have the energy to move. A mental scan of his body assured him it was about as fucked as he’d thought—still littered with fractures and deep bruising and another damn concussion that had him wincing against the morning light filtering in through the thin curtains.

“Good. You’re awake,” Angel’s voice sounded from nearby.

Vin finally opened his eyes and looked over at the shifter leaning in the unfamiliar doorway next to another shifter he recognised as the pack’s doctor. His Angel must’ve been worried if he’d asked Rafe to check on him. That thought had warmth blooming in his too-chilled chest. Only the worst injuries needed the kind of treatment a shifter healer could provide. Usually, supernaturals either healed themselves or died before the Doc could get there. Vin had tried flirting with the sexy shifter healer a few years back, but Rafe only had eyes for one man. A man who defied the bond between them at every turn. Vin used to pity Rafe for it and wonder why he didn’t just move on. Now he understood. Vin would never stop flirting, but his Angel was it for him now he’d found him.

“I told you he’d be fine. He’s older and more powerful than he looks,” the Doc said. “I need to head off. You can take care of him from here.”

“Adrian making trouble again?” Angel asked.

“That boy will be the death of me,” Rafe muttered, waving a distracted farewell as he headed out the door.

“Where am I?” Vin asked once they were alone.

“My apartment. You were in pretty awful shape. Still are, really. And the safe house had already been compromised once.”

“Mmm… my saviour. Come here and let me thank you properly.”

Angel scowled, and a low growl filled the room. “For fuck’s sake. You can barely move, and you look like you should be dead. Surely even you stop flirting at some point.”

Vin considered it, briefly. His mind wasn’t operating at full speed thanks to the hunger burning in him that was taking up more and more mental real estate the longer he was awake. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Angel strode closer, looking thoroughly frustrated with him, and sat on the bed nearby. His scent was unbearable this close—all but begging Vin to kiss, bite, suck, lick.

“You need to feed,” his Angel said, rolling up the sleeves on his collared shirt and temporarily distracting Vin with the muscled forearms he’d revealed.

That was his excuse for taking so long to process what Angel was saying.

“You’re going to let me feed from you?” he asked, voice strained.

He was so fucked if Angel let him taste the sweet nectar of his blood. He could barely keep his hands off the guy as it was.

“You need it to heal. I’m not an asshole,” Angel said.

“Sure you are. It’s one of your most endearing qualities,” Vin said, using the humour to try and hide just how desperate he was to sink his fangs into Angel’s wrist.

His fangs had extended the second he caught sight of hisAngel and were dripping so much of the venom that would give his shifter pleasure while he fed he was pretty sure he was drooling it down his bruised and broken chin. Probably not all that attractive.

“Don’t be a dick,” Angelo said.

Was that fond exasperation in his voice or was Vin’s head trauma making him hear things? Vin opened his mouth to make a smart reply, but Angel pushed a finger to his lips.

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