Page 43 of Isaiah and Jameson
6
Jameson woke earlier than anyone else in the house, including Jamie. Maybe it was a made vamp thing.
He had fallen asleep in his own bed this morning. Isaiah had been awake late with Diego, playing cards, and he’d wanted his boy to spend some time with his friend. He’d kept an ear out for them, metaphorically, but he hadn’t cut in. Now he was… bored, really.
He headed toward Isaiah’s rooms wearing nothing more than a towel, surprised as hell to find one of Isaiah’s family—a handsome, spoiled-looking young man—wandering around.
He had a name. What the hell had Isaiah called him so dismissively? Danny? Devon?
“Ah, the consort. How enticing you look.”
He snorted. “Thanks. You waiting for Isaiah? I came out for breakfast.”
“No, I was hoping to see you, actually.” Damian sort of started… circling him.
“Me?” He shook his head. “What on earth for?”
“Because I think you and I could have a great deal of fun together.”
“Seriously?” Asshole.
“Oh, come on. We all know Isaiah is a milquetoast.”
“Do we now?” Okay, he needed to know what this one’s agenda was. Jameson had assumed he was harmless, but maybe there was more than met the eye.
“Come on. We can tear each other up. Isaiah is good for reading, not fucking.”
“Mmm. I think he might notice though.” God, he wanted to rip this one’s throat out.
“If he ever looked up, maybe. Let’s have a drink. I’m parched. I ended up sleeping in my van.”
“You don’t live at the compound?” Or had he been out prowling and gotten locked out with the sun? Diego shut everything down in the day to keep Isaiah safe.
“I do, but my place is on the far side. I was hoping Diego would agree to let me sleep here in one of the guest rooms, but I couldn’t find him.”
“Ah.” What was he trying to machinate? Jameson had to admit, he did love an incompetent villain. “Well, a drink I can manage.”
“There’s precious little more fun than the first drink with a new friend, don’t you think?”
“Oh, certainly.” He led the way, tightening his towel as soon as the asshole’s back was turned. Jameson was starting to feel… oily.
Still, the blood smelled like life—necessary. Vital. Rich. He breathed deep, ready to eat, his fangs pushing his lower lip.
“Mmm…you’re pretty when you’re hungry. Should we go sit in the foyer, wait for Isaiah?”
“Sure.” That actually sounded like a safe, sensible plan, which made him suspicious.
“Excellent. It’s so early still. Usually I’m not awake at this hour.” Damian gave him a patently innocent glance, the evil palpable. “It must be your vicinity.”
“Or maybe your body was more attuned to the sun,” he deadpanned. “Since you were in your car.”
“Logic. I love that in a man.” Damian sat on one of the seats and lifted his glass. “Cheers.”
“Ditto.” He lifted his, then drank fast, wanting to get this over with.
Damian watched him, drinking slower, eyes glittering.
Shit. Oh, shit. He lifted the glass again, sniffing.
