“Jesus, brother,” Xun whispered when Abel came to a rocking stop next to the armchair where Xun was sitting. “Freak a guy out, why don’t you.”

Abel looked to the bed.

Delilah was asleep in it, not in his tee. She had on something pink and tee-like, but he hadn’t owned a stitch of clothing in two hundred and five years that was pink.

His eyes scanned the space.

His boxes from Jian-Li’s place were in the corner by the hutches where he and his brothers kept most of their weapons. His stereo had been set up on the floor, his CDs stacked by it. His books were piled along the back wall at the head of the bed. They’d also brought down his guitar.

A table from Jian-Li’s place had been brought down, his flat screen and Blu-ray on it. The TV was on, volume down low. Some movie Abel didn’t know was playing on the Blu-ray, since he had no cable and would never get clear reception down there.

His family had been busy.

“Am I off the clock?” Xun asked, still whispering in deference to Delilah sleeping, and Abel looked to him to see he’d taken his feet.

“Yeah, brother. Thanks,” he muttered.

“Not a problem,” Xun replied, then came to him, slapped him on the shoulder, and moved out of the room.

Abel went to the door and slid the steel shaft through the hinges that barred it.

He drew in a deep breath and moved to the bed, seeing Delilah in the same position as last night, except she didn’t have a cheek to her palm—that arm was thrown out.

He drew in another breath, taking in her scent, using everything he had to ignore it, and moved a hand to shift the heavy fall of silken hair off her neck.

He shouldn’t have done that either. Her hair was softer than he’d imagined, and the waft of fragrance that came from it went straight to his dick.

He pulled it together and ignored it as her eyes fluttered but stayed closed.

“I’m home, Lilah,” he whispered.

“Good, baby,” she muttered, her lips curving slightly before she moved, turning to her other side so her back was to him.

He’d been called “baby” by so many women, it would be impossible to count.

None of them felt like it felt when Delilah said it.

Having used up his reserves of control to keep his hands off Delilah, he went to the fridge and got out a bag of blood, seeing only two left in there. If he’d known a warm, delicious meal and its accompanying fuck was not in the cards for him for the foreseeable future, he would have stocked up.

He hadn’t.

He’d have to see to that tomorrow.