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  “Here,” Carlos said from over Sasha’s shoulder. “It’s a smoothie with some protein powder, easy to get down. It’ll keep him hydrated.”

  “Thanks,” Neal said with a smile and helped steady Sasha while he drank it with a straw.

  The fluid soothed his throat and revived him a bit, though the pain interfered with that. He finished the shake and lay back against the pillow. Neal wrapped him in the comfortable blanket again, leaving his arms free of the cocoon.

  “I need to go home,” Sasha muttered. “I can’t just take over your couch.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone with these,” Neal argued.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll call Marty and Vince. It’s just ribs, Neal. Really, I’m fine.” He tried to put as much assurance into his tone as he could manage.

  “I can take him, Boss,” Carlos offered. “I don’t start until later on.”

  Neal studied Sasha. “You sure you’re up to it?”

  Sasha nodded, anxious to be independent again. Bad enough he crashed on the man’s couch all day. Not the best first impression he’d ever made. “Yeah. I’m just sore.”

  “I have some Vicodin,” Steve said. “You’ll probably need it to sleep tonight.”

  That would save him having to call Aunt Z for a scrip…even though it was illegal. “All right,” he agreed with reluctance. “I don’t want to make a habit of it, but just tonight. My aunt’s a doctor if I need more.”

  “We know you’re not a drug addict, Doc,” Neal murmured.

  Sasha tried not to glare when he met the other man’s gaze. “I’m a doctor. I can’t take drugs outside of a prescription.”

  “Up to you.”

  He tried to rise and couldn’t. Neal slipped a hand behind him without speaking, helping him to sit.

  “I washed your stuff,” Carlos told him. “I brought a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, so you don’t have to wear your club stuff.”

  What, were they all good Samaritans? “You guys are going to turn out to be a serial rapist cult or something, aren’t you?”

  All of them laughed, even Cleo.

  “There’s not enough of you to go around, Doc,” Neal pointed out. “You’re too skinny.”

  “Slender. The word is slender. Or wiry,” he corrected with a grin.

  Neal rose. Steve helped Sasha get dressed, the sweats and shirt soft with many washings. His heartbeat thudded in his ears by the time they finished. Dazed by the meds, he said good-bye to Neal and Steve.

  “I’m parked down the alley,” Carlos told him as they stepped into the alley behind the Factory. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away without a backward glance.

  Sasha stared at the dumpster. Blood dried in three small puddles in front of it and his heartbeat sped up. He eyed the alley, counting his breaths to stay calm, but it seemed shadowed and unfriendly. He tried to stop the sudden trembling that came out of his gut, but couldn’t. Sasha suppressed his disappointment that Neal didn’t come down to see him off.

  “You okay?”

  He jumped and whipped his head around. Steve stood just inside the door. He hadn’t even heard the big man open it. “You startled me.”

  Steve stepped out of the doorway. “Sorry. I’ll wait with you.”

  He resisted the urge to step closer to him. “Thanks.”

  The man shrugged. “I figured you’d appreciate company.”

  Sasha had the impulse to stare and fought it, instead looking down the alley toward where Carlos went. The man next to him smelled like Bay rum and spice, good enough to eat. He had a sudden memory of the big man’s hands on him when he’d helped him to stand.

  What was wrong with him? He liked multiple partners, always had, but these men were Marines, dammit. Not exactly group sex material. He looked over to find Steve studying him.

  His heart flipped over. “Hi.”

  Hi? Hi? Gods, Sasha.

  Steve looped his fingers through his waistband and cocked one hip. “Just keep an eye on those ribs, okay? If the pain gets worse, or any discoloration happens, go to the emergency room. Worry about the money later, okay?”

  “I know what to do, Steve. I’m a doctor.”

  “You’re a vet, and stubborn,” Steve corrected.

  Sasha narrowed his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ve seen that look before. On soldiers. Stubborn and dog-stupid. Just take care of yourself. I don’t want something to happen to you after I got you all patched up.”

  “Okay, I’ll be a good little boy.”

  It had to be his imagination that Steve got a “look” in his eye when he said that. Instead, the big man nodded. “There’s Carlos now.”

  “Thanks, Steve. For everything.”

  “No problem.”

  Carlos pulled up in a large Dodge pickup and unlocked the passenger door. Sasha climbed in, careful not to pull on his side. He set the small duffel Neal loaned him on the seat next to him, his mobile phone on top with his keys.

  By the time Carlos dropped him off, he needed to lie down. “Thanks, Carlos. I appreciate the ride.”

  “Don’t mention it. Here’s Neal’s card, he asked me to make sure you have it.”

  He did, did he? Sasha took the black-and-white card with the Factory logo and Neal’s contact information. “Thanks.” Flipping it over, the handwritten cell phone number appeared. He grinned and stashed it under his phone.

  “Get better. And be safe.”

  “I will.” He watched Carlos climb back into the cab of the truck and disappear down the street.

  He almost fell asleep before he got to his apartment. He managed to undress and take the meds, and stretched out on his sheets. His body ached in time to his heartbeat, but as the Vicodin kicked in, it subsided enough for him to drift off.

  Chapter Four

  Okay, Now What?

  Sasha did nothing all day Sunday but rest and watch DVDs. He roused enough to make himself some fruit smoothies and eggs, but for once didn’t wash his dishes. He started to drag around eight o’clock and shut the lights and television off.

  The steady tweet of his mobile phone woke him Monday morning. The sun beat against his blinds; thank the Gods he’d closed them before falling asleep.

  “Doctor Soskoff,” he managed to mumble into the telephone, in case it was someone about a job.

  “Sasha? Jesus man, are you okay?” Marty Keaton demanded.

  “Marty? What time is it?”

  “It’s ten o’clock Monday morning. You don’t know? I’m coming over.” The sound of a door slamming came through the phone.

  “Slow down, man, you woke me up is all.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming over anyway. You need breakfast, and I want to see how bad you’re hurt. Your aunt’s gonna kill me.”

  He laughed. Marty had a point. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “No. But I think one of us should. She’s the doctor, you know.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t.” His voice came out authoritative, reminding him of Neal’s.

  Warmth filled him and he missed Marty’s next comment.

  “What was that?”

  Marty didn’t answer right away. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’m sore, is all.”

  “Neal Harrison said you had broken ribs. Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”

  “I told you. I just woke up. Could you at least save the interrogation until after I’ve had coffee?”

  There was a small silence, and Sasha could hear the car radio through the telephone. “Yeah, man. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll grab some stuff from Corner Bakery and be there in a half hour.”

  “That sounds good. Thanks.”

  “Yeah.” Marty hung up.

  Sasha let his arm fall. Marty was one of his best friends, but sometimes…

  He rolled out of bed and took a quick shower. The jagged cut on his arm burned, but he washed everything with soap, wary of infection. He dressed in soft flannel pajamas, since he didn’t have
to go anywhere.

  His face, though… Shit, his interview was tomorrow. He stared at himself in the mirror, his eye a dark red mess and the shiner, if anything, bigger than the last time he’d looked.

  He dialed Dr. Salisbury’s office and sat on the bed.

  To his shock, the doctor answered his own telephone. Sasha expected an assistant.

  “Charles Salisbury.”

  “Good morning, Doctor. This is Aleksandr Soskoff.”

  “Doctor Soskoff.” Dr. Salisbury sounded pleased to hear his voice. “What can I do for you?”

  “Sir, I wanted to call about tomorrow.” Just say it. “I was mugged on Friday, and—”

  “Mugged?”

  “Yes, sir. I—”

  “Surely, you’re all right, young man?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m fine, but I look terrible. I wanted to warn you for the interview tomorrow, since it’s not something I can hide.”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather postpone?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine, I just look like a walking war victim.”

  The doctor chuckled, though Sasha got the impression it was partially involuntary. “Whatever you think best, Doctor Soskoff.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  He closed his phone and got some water, then the doorbell rang. He buzzed Marty in and opened the front door. Marty appeared with two large Corner Bakery bags that emitted enticing aromas of eggs and toasted bread. And coffee. Definitely coffee.

  Sasha’s stomach growled.

  Marty looked good, dressed in a dark amethyst Henley and jeans. His curly russet-brown hair brushed his collar and always made Sasha want to bury his hands in it. Marty’s brown eyes widened, and he gaped at Sasha. “Jesus, you look like shit.”

  “Thanks, man. That’s what I want to hear the day before an interview.”

  Marty blushed and set the bags on the counter. “Vince wanted to come, but he’s got a big pitch meeting today. He’s worried about you too. How are you?”

  “Good, actually,” Sasha said. He turned away to get plates and glasses. “Thanks for bringing over food. It smells fantastic.”

  “I’m really sorry we didn’t go to get your wallet with you, man. Vince is beside himself.” He paused. “Now tell me what happened.”

  Sasha sighed and sat down and Marty joined him, pulling boxes out of the bags. After telling Marty about his attack in the alley he changed the subject. “How’s work?”

  Marty shrugged. “I wish I could open my own spa, but it’s not bad. I get enough massage clients that I keep busy, but you know how it is.”

  “Yeah.”

  Marty stayed in the business after they left massage school, even after he hooked up with his partner, Vince Miller. Sasha wasn’t jealous of Vince, but he missed messing around with Marty. Things might have gone better if Sasha had been older, or Marty more pushy, or something…

  Besides, Neal seemed interested… He glanced at the card, sitting on the table next to the salt shaker.

  He looked up to find Marty watching him. “Does your eye hurt?”

  Sasha shrugged. “Yeah. My ribs hurt worse, though.” He lifted his shirt and showed him the bruising.

  “Fuck. You’re lucky they didn’t kill you.”

  A chill shocked through him. “I know.”

  Marty flushed and looked down at his plate. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be Captain Obvious.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He hesitated. “I think I met someone.”

  Marty’s slow grin lighted his brown eyes as he played with his food with the fork. “Oh?” His tone sounded too casual.

  “Yeah.” Sasha took a bite of egg. “He’s really hot.”

  “Is he in the scene?”

  Hmm. Would owning the club be “in the scene”? Sasha smirked. “You might say that, yeah.”

  “And does he like you?”

  “I think so,” Sasha admitted. “He seemed to, anyway.”

  Marty sat back. “You did not let someone top you after getting assaulted. Tell me you didn’t.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Holy shit, man. How was it? How do you get spanked with broken ribs?”

  “It was short,” he admitted. “We couldn’t do much actual play. But he has really strong hands and likes to control the situation.”

  Sharing the details of his encounter with Neal took up the rest of the breakfast. Marty helped him carry their dishes to the sink.

  “I still have to go back and get my truck.”

  “You left it there?” Marty put his hands on his hips. “You really want me to call your aunt?”

  Sasha gaped at him. “For leaving my truck there?”

  “You don’t even know these people, Sasha.” Marty waved his hands around. “They could be into really weird shit, you don’t know.”

  “Like the scene?” he snapped, stuffing the plate into the dishwasher.

  “I… Sasha, I didn’t mean that, come on. Be reasonable. You meet this guy, he drugs you up and drops you at home without once being seen by a doctor? And that doesn’t sound strange to you?”

  “I don’t have insurance. Besides, Steve was a medic in the Corps.”

  “The ‘Corps’?” Marty echoed. “You sound like one of them now.”

  “I had a really good time, dammit.” Sasha glared at him. “We can’t all have steady boyfriends and nice apartments.”

  Now what had possessed him to blurt that out?

  Marty frowned. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

  Sasha turned away, the sponge in his hand. He stared at the table, but didn’t wipe it down. “If I don’t get the job, I’ll have to go back to Madison at the end of the month, Marty. I can’t afford to stay, and I can’t sell the farm. Aunt Z won’t give me money, and the Covens weren’t crazy about me leaving for the ‘wilds’ of Chicago. My Coven supported me, but the rest think werewolves and vampires are around every corner.” He paused. “And for the first time since I got here, I actually want to stay.”

  “Well, you are one of the Covens’ Guardians.”

  Sasha rolled his eyes. “I’m a witch with enough magic to help with protection spells. My empathy only really aids my working with animals. Being a Guardian didn’t save my ass Friday night.”

  Silence greeted his words and then Marty’s warm hand slipped onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I am. I worry about you, is all. This isn’t Madison. Even the gay scene is rougher here. It sounds like you really like this guy.”

  “I…” He cleared his throat. “I guess I really do, kinda.”

  “What’s he like?” Marty released him and took the sponge to start cleaning the table with long strokes.

  “Dreamy.” He made his voice sound breathy and high-pitched.

  Marty shot a look at him and then barked a loud laugh. “Come on.”

  “He’s fun to talk to, and he seems like a good top. He picks up on shit, but doesn’t mess around. He wanted my safe word before he’d even kiss me.”

  “Must be some kiss…”

  “It was. He pays attention to business, though. His guys seem pretty serious too. I’ve been reading up on clubs in town, and the Factory’s got a really good reputation.”

  Neal did too, but Sasha didn’t want to gush.

  “You want me to drive you to the interview tomorrow?” Marty offered. “Vince offered to cook us lunch.”

  “He’s got the day off?”

  “Half day. He’d really like to see you.”

  “Yeah. Sure, that sounds good.”

  “All right. I have a client in a couple hours, I should go get ready. You’ll be okay?”

  “I’m fine. I promise. Thanks, man. Really.”

  Marty waved his hand and got his keys. “Just get better, all right? Or I really will call your aunt.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here.”

  “See you in the morning.”

  Sasha laid down after Marty left, intending to watc
h television. His body had other ideas and he could feel sleep pull at him. He curled up with a pillow in front of him and wished it was Neal’s body instead.

  Chapter Five

  Interview with a Veterinarian

  Trying to get into his suit jacket proved a challenge, but the outfit made the struggle worthwhile. He’d selected a dark charcoal grey that set off the rich brown of his eyes and his sable hair. He loved the tie, a shade of blue that reminded him of the sky in summer.

  It, too, set off his eye and hair color, he had to admit.

  The bruises didn’t help anything, and neither did the shiner, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He came down when Marty buzzed his mobile phone and the massage therapist sat waiting in his goldenrod—not yellow, Gods forbid you call it “yellow” in front of Marty—Mustang.

  “Hey, Marty.” Sasha got in the car and sat back.

  “How you feelin’?” Marty asked, pulling away from the curb.

  “Better, but stiff,” he admitted. “I’m glad I don’t have to wear a suit every day.”

  Marty eyed him. “You look hot.”

  Sasha preened. “Thanks.”

  Marty hit the button to turn the CD player back on, and Nickelback poured out of the speakers. They didn’t speak on the way to Northwestern and Sasha enjoyed the ride.

  He pulled out the directions when they got there and they navigated to the newer section of campus to a parking lot. “I’ll wait for you here,” Marty told him. “Good luck.”

  Sasha grinned. He went up the stairs to the newly constructed building and found his way to Doctor Charles Salisbury’s office. While the University of Illinois at Urbana Champaign was well-known for its veterinary sciences, he’d been referred to Dr. Salisbury by his graduate advisor in Madison. Dr. Salisbury planned to build a new discipline through the Life Sciences program at Northwestern and wanted a recent doctoral recipient to help build it. While the job resembled something a grad student would do, Dr. Salisbury’s reputation in the field could be exactly the thing Sasha needed to make his own mark on veterinary science.