The Darkling Hunters_Fox Company Alpha

by Rhiannon Ayers

Sam wiped his hair out of his face and scowled. “But you told her, didn’t you? You t-told her you loved her.” Dex gave a silent sigh and nodded. Sam parroted the motion. “Good. At least she knew one of us did.”

  God, this man was going to kill him. “She knew, Sam. I promise you, she knew.”

  Sam snorted, then reached up to wipe his nose with the back of his hand. He paused, frowning down at his knuckles. “What the hell? There’s blood on me. I’m not bleeding.” His silver eyes came up with a start. “Did I hit you that hard?”

  Dex snorted, leaning back a little so Sam could get a good look at his right shoulder. “Ryker grazed me right before he shot his boss. Don’t worry, Sam. You still hit like a girl.”

  But Sam didn’t smile at the joke. His eyebrows turned down in a furious scowl as he twisted around and grabbed Dex’s arm, examining the shallow graze with critical intent. “Shit. We need to get this cleaned out.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Those eyes came up again, this time filled with naked intensity. “You’re still covered in darkling dust, not to mention ash and soot. That cut could get infected. Come on.”

  He barreled to his feet before Dex could say a word, hauling Dex up after him before dragging him to the bathroom. Once there, Sam set about getting the shower running, pulling towels down from the rack above the toilet and pulling the curtain closed with a screeching clang of metal as the rings slid along the bar.

  “Strip,” Sam barked. “Might as well toss the jeans. There’s no…” He paused, swallowing hard. “There’s no saving them.”

  Dex hid a wince at the choice of phrase, slowly reaching for his belt as he watched Sam move about the small room. His movements had gone back to jerky, his expression hard and determined. Moments ago, he’d been bawling in Dex’s arms. Now he strode about like a military general on a mission. Why the change?

  “Sam?”

  “Boots too. Come on, we need to get you cleaned up so I can check to see if you need stitches.”

  Dex clamped his mouth shut, leaning in the doorframe as he toed off his boots. Something wasn’t right here. Something…

  “Fuck,” Sam cursed. He picked up the tiny bottles of motel-brand shampoo and tossed them in the sink with a sigh of disgust. “That shit won’t be enough. Let me see if I have any in my bag.” And he barreled out into the bedroom, not even waiting for a reply.

  More concerned than ever, Dex toed off his socks and went back to working off his belt, purposefully taking his time. Sam wasn’t just acting oddly; he was acting manic. First the crying jag, now this hyper-active dedication to making sure Dex got cleaned up? What the hell?

  “Go ahead and hop in the shower,” Sam called from the bedroom. “Water’s gonna run black for a while.”

  “No shit,” Dex said with a sigh, looking down at his soot-streaked hands. Thank God they hadn’t been pulled over on the way back to the motel. No way they could have talked their way out of that one. He slipped off his jeans, then his underwear, and stood looking at his reflection in the mirror. There were tiny burn marks all over his chest, numerous bruises on his arms and shoulders, and even a gash on his jaw he didn’t remember getting. None of that shit hurt in the heat of the moment, but now that he noticed, those injuries were starting to sting. Dex grimaced at himself. Maybe Sam was right.

  Maybe they both needed a shower.

  That thought firmly in mind, Dex folded his arms and leaned back against the sink. Sam came bustling in a moment later, his arms full of shampoo bottles. “This is everything we had stashed. Might still not be enough, but we’ll make due. Soap might be a different matter.”

  “How so?” Dex kept his voice neutral.

  Sam walked over to the tub and started lining miniature bottles along the side opposite from the showerhead. “All we have is a few of those mini-soaps we took from the last place. Not much there. But we could…” He trailed off, straightening with his back toward Dex. Even from that angle, Dex saw his partner’s neck muscles lurch with a hard gulp. “We could just use…Sydney’s.”

  The mention of her name set a vice around Dex’s heart. He sucked in a sharp breath, then forced himself to relax. Surrounding himself with Sydney’s scent? Fuck…that might very well kill him. But a glance at his soot-streaked forearm told him no mini-soap would ever do the trick. He forced the thick lump back down his throat and croaked, “We can use hers.”

  Sam nodded, still not looking at him. “I’ll go after you—”

  “No.”

  The hard finality of Dex’s voice must have startled him, because Sam jerked around. “What?”

  He kept his face blank. “You’re coming in with me.”

  Dex didn’t know what he’d expected to get from Sam by making that statement—a touch of panic, perhaps, or maybe discomfort. What he did not expect was the immediate release of tension from Sam’s shoulders, or the way his expression went from grim to grateful in half a heartbeat. Sam licked his lips, then nodded hard, just once. He set the rest of the shampoo bottles down on the edge of the tub and immediately sat down on the toilet lid to remove his boots.

  “I left h-her soap bottle on the bed,” was all he said. A statement of fact, not a command to retrieve it.

  Dex nodded anyway and strode into the bedroom. He found the bottle where Sam had left it, grimacing at the girly purple color. God. Marines shouldn’t smell like flowers. It just wasn’t right.

  But they’d also smell like her, if only for a little while. He choked up and had to brace his knees against the mattress to keep himself upright. Damn it, he needed to get a grip. Something was going on with Sam. The abrupt change from overpowering grief to laser-focus scared the shit out of him. He needed to figure out what was going on so he could help.

  Besides, dealing with Sam’s issues was easier than dealing with his own…

  The lightbulb went off seconds after the thought occurred to him. Fuck, that was it, wasn’t it? Sam broke down because he’d been forced to confront his own feelings about Sydney’s death. But the moment Dex gave him an excuse to focus on him, Sam was able to shove it all down again. He understood the sentiment—oh, fuck, did he understand—but he knew it also wasn’t healthy. Somehow, he’d have to figure out a way to get Sam to handle his grief without the need of a distraction.

  Dex looked at the shampoo bottle in his hand—and felt tears threaten.

  Of course, it would help if I could figure out how to handle my own…

  Dashing tears from his eyes, Dex marched back into the bathroom to find Sam still sitting on the toilet lid. His elbows were dug into his knees, his fingers shoved deep into his hair as he squeezed his own skull. He looked as if he were trying to keep himself from shattering.

  Dex understood that feeling, too.

  He set the bottle on the side of the tub and cleared his throat. “Sam? I…I need your help to get…you know…the harness thing…off.”

  Sam looked up with a start—and the corners of his mouth twitched. He rose. “Turn around.”

  A little zing of interest went through his belly, and Dex castigated himself for it immediately. Now was not the time. He set his jaw and pivoted, standing stiffly and telling himself he did not enjoy the feel of Sam’s fingertips sliding along his back as the other man worked the buckles.

  The harness came loose. Dex caught it before it could hit the ground—then stood there, staring at it.

  Syd bought that for him. She’d known what his reaction would be, too; how he’d grumble and snarl, put up a big show about hating having to wear it. But she’d also known how much of a thrill he would get out of it—he’d seen that in her eyes the moment she handed it to him. In some ways—okay, a lot of ways—she’d known him better than he knew himself.

  The lump grew in his throat again, making it hard to breathe. Dex put the harness down on the counter and pushed past Sam to yank the shower curtain aside. He stepped under the warm spray, closing his eyes, and let the water run over his face. He felt, more than heard, Sam step in ther
e with him, but he didn’t turn around.

  Warm water, warm tears. No difference here.

  “Need to wash your hair, first,” Sam rumbled. “Get all that grit to go downward.”

  Dex nodded, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He started to turn around, but Sam stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “No. Stay like that.”

  He heard the plastic pop of a bottle cap, followed by the farty-squeeze of a small bottle being emptied. And then, Sam’s fingers were in his hair—and Dex could do nothing but sink into the feeling of it.

  The lump grew bigger as Sam washed him. His touch wasn’t sensual, but it wasn’t clinical, either. Those big, broad palms passing over his neck, his shoulders, his legs, and his buttocks made him quiver both inside and out. He shuddered when Sam pressed his chest against Dex’s back and ran his hands all up and down Dex’s stomach. He was shaking from a lot more than nerves by the time Sam started on his arms.

  He lost it completely when Sam started to kneel so he could work on Dex’s feet.

  His knees gave out as a desperate sob wrenched from his throat, and he collapsed to the floor of the tub with a heavy thud. Sam’s arms were around him in an instant, holding him together as tears threatened to tear him apart. Dex slammed his fist against the tiled wall, did it again, then hit it ten more times in quick succession before Sam captured his wrist and forced him to curl his arm against his chest. After that, he just knelt there, tears bleeding like acid rain down his cheeks, and let Sam keep him from shaking himself apart.

  It took forever. Long past the point where a normal shower would have gone stone-cold. But, eventually, his sobs ran dry. Dex pulled the broken pieces of himself back into some semblance of order and looked up to find Sam watching him.

  “We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Dex croaked, throat like raw meat. He tried for a grin. He failed.

  Sam’s eyes glittered with fresh tears, but he smiled a little, too. “Yeah. We’re a pair, all right.”

  We were a trio until a few hours ago. Neither man said the words, but they hung in the air between them.

  Dex swiped a hand down his face, sniffling. He nudged Sam with his shoulder. “Your turn. You’ve still got ash and soot everywhere.”

  Sam snorted. “That’s because your giant shoulders kept hogging all the water.”

  “Hey, at least I fit under the showerhead.”

  “And when you’re—” dead I can fit you in a flowerpot. Dex saw the moment when Sam choked on the rest of the joke. His eyes got wide, mouth going slack as he realized what he was about to say.

  Dex sighed and pushed himself to his feet, hauling Sam up with him. He shoved the other man under the water and reached for a shampoo bottle. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said softly. “We have to be able to talk about…her.”

  “I know.” Sam grimaced as he accepted the bottle Dex held out. “It’s just going to be hard for a while.”

  Perfect chance for a “that’s what she said” joke, and I can’t even say it. Dex cleared his throat. “Turn around. I’ll wash your back.”

  For just a moment, Dex saw surprise in Sam’s eyes. Had he seriously thought Dex would just stand there? After everything Sam had just done? Scowling, he made a twirling motion with one finger, then reached for Sydney’s bottle of body wash. Sam blinked at him. Finally, he turned. Dex soaped up his hands, heart aching as her scent washed over him, and set to work.

  He tried to keep his touch methodical and thorough, just like Sam had. But the moment his palms touched Sam’s back, he lost himself in the feel of that silky-smooth skin. Jesus Christ, Sam had a hard body. Muscles on muscles. He ran his palms over Sam’s shoulders, frowning when he realized Sam had the same kind of pin-prick burn marks he’d seen on his own chest.

  They really were lucky to be alive. That thought sent a freshet of tears down his cheeks. Dex pushed it aside and focused on the man in front of him. He got the first layer of soot off Sam’s back, then concentrated on his arms. He worked his way downward, trying to be thorough, but somewhere along the line he went from cleaning to outright massage. Sam just felt so good under his hands, soft skin paired with hard, unyielding muscle. He ignored his hard-on and concentrated on Sam’s lower back, then his buttocks. Eventually, he realized the humming noise he kept hearing in the background wasn’t coming from the showerhead—it was coming from him.

  Sam had gone from standing straight to leaning slightly, arms braced against the wall beneath the shower, his head dropped down so the water rained over the back of his neck. A tremble twitched the muscles beneath Dex’s hands. Sam let out a little gasp. Dex straightened from his crouch, where he’d been working on Sam’s thighs, and ran a hand down the center of Sam’s spine. Sam shuddered, and part of Dex thrilled at the idea that Sam was just as turned on as he was. He took a half-step forward, intending to wrap his arms around Sam’s chest.

  Then he saw the hitch in Sam’s shoulders. The tremble in his fingers as he clutched at the tile. He peeked under the curtain of Sam’s hair—and saw his face screwed up in a pained grimace, mouth half-open as he took in several shuddering, gasping breaths.

  That wasn’t lust. That was sorrow. Dex had been lost in his explorations of the other man’s body while Sam stood there, fighting back tears.

  Dear God, I am such a fucking jerk.

  “I’m sorry,” Dex rasped, taking a big step back. “I got…I got carried away.”

  Sam said nothing. He straightened, turned off the water, and yanked the shower curtain aside so hard several rings popped free of the plastic lining. He yanked a towel from the counter and disappeared into the bedroom so fast, Dex didn’t even have time to call his name.

  Dex stood there, dripping wet and cold to the bone. Then he sighed, got out of the tub, and picked up his own towel. He got the worst of the water off his skin, dried his hair, and wrapped his hips. It took several more deep breaths before he could make himself go out to door to face Sam.

  Sam sat on the edge of the closest bed, elbows once again digging into his knees, head in his hands. His sopping-wet hair masked his face, but Dex could see the tension in his shoulders. Castigating himself for ten kinds of a fool, Dex sat down next to him, gingerly, and clasped his hands between his splayed knees.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” Sam’s voice sounded just as rough as Dex’s felt.

  “But I need to,” Dex replied, heart aching. “I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t…I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Dex. Please. Shut up.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that to you,” Dex said anyway. “It was inappropriate—”

  “Dex,” Sam rasped. He laughed harshly and finally looked up, silver eyes blazing. “Our whole world just fell apart. You think touching me was inappropriate? I’ll give you ‘inappropriate.’ The woman we both love just died, and I’m sitting here with a raging hard-on, fighting the urge to fuck you raw. Contest over, I win. Now, please, shut the fuck up.”

  Chapter 25

  The synapses in Dex’s brain went haywire.

  He still wants me! But, I don’t know how to do this. Should I touch him? Wait for him to touch me? How will I know if I’m doing it right? I’ve never done this before. I’m a goddamn virgin again. Shit, what the fuck do I do now? How do I do this?

  How can we do this when we just lost Syd?

  The last thought sobered him, almost making him pull back. But then he remembered his first night with Sydney, the night when she’d confessed one of her deepest, darkest desires.

  I’ve fantasized about the two of you… together. The thought of your hot, hard bodies moving together on the same bed makes me wet and horny…

  Dex’s hard-on flared to new life, and he didn’t stop to let himself think about it. He simply dropped to his knees on the carpet between Sam’s feet, put one hand on Sam’s thigh, wrapped the other around his neck—and kissed him.

  The taste of tears mixed with the unique taste that was Sam Spe
ncer exploded over his tongue. The combination made him groan as the ache of loss spiraled together with the ache of desire. Sam just sat there for the longest time, kissing him back but not moving otherwise. Dex kissed him until his lungs started screaming for air, then pulled back with a hard gasp.

  Silvery-gray eyes glittered at him from beneath a curtain of wet hair. Sam lifted trembling fingers and caressed Dex’s cheek. “You don’t have to do this,” he rasped, voice like sandpaper on gravel.

  “I want to,” Dex admitted just as hoarsely. “And not just because Syd wanted us to.”

  Sam pulled back with a tiny frown. “Say what?”

  He didn’t know how, but he managed a tiny grin. “Syd made a confession to me, the first night we were together. She told me she fantasized about us. Not just with her. She wanted…she wanted to see us together.”

  Sam’s trembling fingers slipped down to Dex’s shoulder, clamping down as if he needed something to hold on to. Funny. I’ve always considered him my rock. Guess it’s my turn to provide the foundation.

  Dex steeled himself, then pushed Sam’s wet hair away from his face. “Do you really think Syd would want us to be mourning like this? Crying jags and temper tantrums?”

  Sam snorted out a watery laugh. “She’d roll her eyes, tell us to grow a pair, and tease us mercilessly.”

  The corner of Dex’s lips twitched. “Exactly. And I know she’d…she’d want us to be together.”

  Breathless silence. Finally, Sam whispered, “How do you know that?”

  Dex shifted forward a little, rough carpet fibers digging into his bare knees. “Remember the day you kissed me?”

  Another snort. “As I recall, you kissed me back.”

  “So I did.” He let his grin grow bigger. “And afterward, Sydney tried to leave. Remember that?”

  Heat flared in Sam’s eyes, and Dex knew he was remembering the scene on the bed, when they’d shared Sydney’s body at the same time. “I remember.”

  Dex looked down. “I think she tried to leave because…because she always thought we’d end up together. Just…just you and me, I mean. She probably assumed we wouldn’t need her once we admitted our…feelings…for each other.”