Nah.
There was just something about a power outage in the middle of a blizzard that made a young male’s thoughts turn toward romance.
CHAPTER TWELVE
This time they were going to be better prepared for the great outdoors.
As Qhuinn zipped up a Mount Everest–worthy parka from his hips to his chinny-chin-chin, he felt like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Add in a set of Gore-Tex mittens, a hood, and a coat of ChapStick on the lips, and he felt like he was going to war out on a tundra.
He also knew what steamed broccoli felt like. Jesus, it was hot under all the thermal gear—and not in a fun way.
Turning his head, the miner’s light strapped to his skull hit Blay’s chest. His mate had grabbed a load of wearable duvet as well, and as long as a person didn’t focus on the twelve-foot-deep gash on that cheek, the sheer beauty of the male was almost overwhelming. Between that wind-burned face and those bright blue eyes and that red hair, Blaylock, son of Rocke, was positively edible.
And okay, fine. Maybe that scratch on the cheek was just a minor injury, but the thing certainly seemed like a mortal wound—
The emergency lights came on, offering a quarter of the normal illumination—and saving all kinds of retina burn.
“Thank you, Ruhn,” Blay murmured as he looked to the ceiling fixture.
“Guy’s a frickin’ genius.” Qhuinn switched off his headlamp, but kept the contraption noggin-bound on a just-in-case. “Let’s do this.”
Hitching an arm through the rung of a five-foot stepladder, he led the way back into the garage. The lights that were motion-activated came on at that reduced level, but it was more than enough to see by as they tromped along the concrete floor, passing by the riding mowers that were drained and draped for the winter, as well as the thirteen ancient coffins that were lined up like something out of a Bela Lugosi movie.
The damn things freaked him the hell out—not that he’d shared that little slice of pansy with anybody. He always worried Dracula was going to crack open one of those fuckers—which was pretty rich because Qhuinn actually was a vampire.
“What about Bela Lugosi?” Blay asked as he unlocked the door to the back forty.
“Just rambling. Hey, did you think Frank Langella was hot?”
Blay glanced back. “In that Dracula movie from way back? I mean…”
“You’re blushing.” Qhuinn laughed. “You so did. You so thought he was hot with those high collars and that widow’s peak.”
“Whatever. You had a crush on Jordan Catalano—”
Qhuinn pulled Blay’s parka forward. “I’ve got a crush on you. Right now. And forever.”
Okay, that giggle was pretty much the high point of Qhuinn’s night. No, wait. The true high point was going to be getting the male naked and bent over in front of him—
“Oh, my God,” Blay said. “You can’t talk like that right now. We’ve got a job to do.”
“Did I say that out loud? For real? Oopsy. You want to spank me for being a naughty boy? Please? Commmmme onnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn.”
Blay was laughing as he stepped out of the garage, and this was the intention. It was always good to hear that sound and know that Qhuinn was the reason for it—especially on a night like tonight, when a strange, paranoid feeling was not only persisting, but being egged on by things like broken windows and moaning wind and electrical failures.
Outside in the back, they didn’t run into any wind at all. The great stone house was a helluva buffer, the front taking the lashing, the rear spared. Overhead in the sky, the snow had finally started to fall, the flakes rushing by up high illuminated by the exterior security fixtures that were back on at half-power, the variegated angles of the roof acting like the aerodynamics of a car, the airflow whipping past the peaks and valleys in a fixed, organized pattern. Not that there weren’t some icy anarchists. Some of what was coming down—or across, as the case was—broke free of the masses and drifted toward the ground, clearly exhausted with all the frantic, conforming congestion.
“Over here,” Blay said.
Qhuinn humped the ladder across to a row of three windows that were on
ly halfway shuttered. “Okay, let’s have a look at this.”
“I’ll hold the ladder base.”
“Perfect.” Qhuinn set the thing up and put a foot on the first step. “And please feel free to ogle my assets. Don’t be shy about it, either.”
Blay laughed, his breath leaving in puffs of white. “You’re ridiculous.”