“His lover was cut up?” Deven asked.

Director Alonsa nodded. “A faerie assassin sliced him to pieces.”

Deven remembered the glassy expression on August’s face when he’d talked of hiding his career from his lovers. “Did his lover even know August was with NIAD?”

Director Alonsa looked at him blankly. “Silas wasn’t an agent. His lover was. Silas thought Jake was an immigrations officer. Only after witnessing Jake’s assault did he learn of the agency and was invited to come on board.”

That wasn’t what Deven had been expecting. “Why was he invited? He doesn’t have any magical ability.”

“He was a top-notch investigator for the DEA, and we were looking for more expertise in investigation over magical abilities. Equipment can handle magic; it takes intelligence to resolve crimes.”

“How long ago was Jake killed?”

“Why, you interested in taking his place?” Director Alonsa asked.

“Not his place as a casualty,” Deven clarified.

“Be kind to him,” Director Alonsa said.

“He’s a jerk.”

“Yes. And he is a great investigator and agent, and a friend of mine.” Director Alonsa squeezed Deven’s arm. “He’s not as hard as he appears. He’s just damaged and lonely.”

“But I make up for it with impeccable fashion sense.”

Deven swiveled at August’s voice. August’s hands were full with two enormous slices of red, dripping watermelon. Deven wondered how long he’d been standing there, listening.

Director Alonsa gave Deven a pointed look and walked off.

“What happened?” August snapped, smile fading as he took in the cries of the other patients and the broken window on the operating room door.

“Honesto’s dead,” Deven said. “Come on.”

“What? What happened?” August strained to look through the window. Deven grabbed his arm and led him away. He snatched one of the pieces of watermelon out of August’s hands.

“He survived the operation, but the tzimimi got him.”

“What?” August’s mouth curled in a snarl.

“They’re dead,” Deven assured him. “Agents Ortega, Zardo, and I got them all.”

“About fucking time.” August frowned. “Are you bleeding?”

“A little. It’s not bad.”

“Like hell it isn’t. Hold this.” August handed Deven his slice of watermelon and lifted the back of Deven’s T-shirt. Deven’s skin prickled with the sensation of August behind him, touching him.

“Christ, Deven. This looks awful. Let’s find a doctor to sew this up.”

“There’s no time. We have to go after Night Axe now.”

“What about detaching the others?”

“Night Axe knows what we’re doing. Besides, the doctor is dead.” Water from the watermelon dribbled on Deven’s hand and he licked at it. “Thank you for the fruit,” he told August.

“Yeah...well, no problem.” August still scowled at Deven’s back.

Deven took a bite. The fruit’s sweetness and watery, crispy texture shocked him. He realized the watermelon had been the first gift he’d been given in the human world since his mother died and felt a sudden, overwhelming rise in temperature as he flushed with happiness. Even with bloody rakes in his back, obsidian shards in his hair, and a renegade Aztaw lord to stalk, someone had voluntarily given him a gift and that, at least, was worth sticking around for.

August’s expression was somber, almost haunted, as he took in the marks on Deven’s back. Deven polished off his watermelon in four quick bites, then grabbed hold of August’s hand. “Come on, let’s get Night Axe before he kills anyone else.”

August squeezed his hand and, for once, followed Deven.

Chapter Fifteen

It was nearly dark by the time Director Alonsa assembled her raiding party, so Deven suggested they reconvene at dawn, when daylight would weaken Night Axe’s wards. Some quiet exchange occurred between Alonsa and August, and she agreed that August could continue another day.

August and Deven returned to the safe house. Deven slept little, his body already charged with the adrenaline rush of impending conflict.

The house was quiet at the early hour, with only the security system humming in the background. Deven showered and dressed, and when he emerged from his room, one of the guards informed him that Director Alonsa had phoned and was on her way to pick them up.

Deven made his way down the hall to August’s bedroom. He knocked, but there was no answer. “Agent August?” he called. He received no response.

Fear seized him. He rushed through the door but exhaled in relief when he saw August had merely slept late again, face as pale as the bedsheets on which he slept.

He appeared to be deep in slumber, but he didn’t look peaceful. He twitched and jerked in his sleep, hands drifting unconsciously to his chest and the connection that linked him to Carlos’s killer.

Deven sat at the edge of the bed and gave in to his urge to run his hand through August’s dark curls. He’d never seen such a thick, chaotic, beautiful head of hair before. It was wild and almost childlike in its resistance to order.

August’s eyes slowly opened as Deven stroked his fingers along his scalp. August appeared confused for a moment, but then the confusion disappeared and he simply stared into Deven’s eyes.

Desire, sharp as an electric charge, sparked through Deven. His breathing hurt. He stared back, heart racing, terrified and elated and unsure what to do next.

August seemed to be waiting for something. He froze, unmoving, as Deven continued to stroke his hair. His lips parted and he took in a hitching breath.

The sight of his soft, wide lips was too much to resist and Deven leaned down closer. His heart hammered in his chest. He still feared he had misread the agent, up until August closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Deven gasped and opened his mouth and August plunged his tongue inside. The feeling was like a shock, pleasure bolting down the nerves of his spine, pooling in his groin. Hot pulses of desire flooded him and he opened his mouth wider, pushing his tongue back into August’s mouth.

Who would imagine such a strange, wet, and slick sensation could be so intoxicating? August tasted like toothpaste and sleep. He wrapped his arms around Deven and pulled him down, flush against his body. Despite the thrusting urgency of his groin, August’s touch was surprisingly gentle.

But the moment Deven’s hard cock rubbed through his pants against August’s a flare of need dismantled all other thoughts and he began gracelessly rubbing against him. Their kiss intensified, mimicking the pulsing of their hips, August’s hands deftly moving to Deven’s belt, unbuckling it without looking.

Deven had been nervous when touched the first time by Christopher, but he wasn’t anxious now. The slow, simmering arousal that had built all week burned through any fear. He brazenly ran his hands down August’s slender body, stroking the contours of his hips, drawn to the hard heat between them.

August pulled Deven’s trousers and underwear down and quickly divested his own. His long, slender fingers grasped hold of Deven’s cock and Deven shuddered, his body blazing with a solitary, driving need—to be inside August, to fill him.

Their fingers intertwined as they grabbed hold of each other, rubbing for delicious friction as their mouths met once more.

He was drowning, drowning. He heard August gasp for air and he pulled back, worried he was too forceful, given August’s injuries. But August seemed oblivious to his own body’s torments—he pumped both of them together in a palm slickened with their mingled pre-ejaculate.

“Yes,” August mumbled against Deven’s lips. “Yes, yes, yes.” He kissed him once more and then turned, writhing out from under Deven to bend down and pull Deven’s cock into his mouth.

It felt like the place where craving and satisfaction met, a slick, hot enveloping world summoning him deeper, and Deven arched himself into August’s mouth, delirious with gratification. Nothing had ever felt like this and he knew he was completely lost now—only this would ever inspire him.