The Baritone’s Rival by J.B. Warrick Excerpt
Oscar
retrieved a plastic bottle of alcohol and gauze pads from the island.
He crouched down next to Trent. His cheek was right by the man’s broad
chest.
“I don’t think you need stitches, but this is going to hurt a little.”
Trent
nodded, although Oscar thought he might be drifting off. He poured a
few drops of alcohol on a pad and touched it to the topmost cut.
Trent breathed in sharply, his hands gripping at the sides of the chair and his eyes snapping open.
“Fuck.”
Well,
he was awake now. Oscar worked as fast as he could, but he wouldn’t
risk infection. His fingers made their way across the damaged skin
tenderly. Tenderness was not something Oscar had known much of, or
something he trafficked in, but seeing Trent there brought it out in
him.
He
just wanted his classmate to be okay, for his smooth, pale skin to be
unmarred by scars and injury. He had to reverse the wound, to make it as
if it had never been. He didn’t know why it was so important. Trent had
said he’d been in vampire fights before. Still, something about
touching him like this made Oscar’s chest open up. It felt raw,
unprotected, to be caring for Trent in this way.
When
he hit one particularly tender area, Trent yelped in pain, and Oscar’s
heart leapt into his throat. Why was he having this reaction? He wasn’t
squeamish. He’d killed vampire and human alike. Was it just that he was
responsible because Trent had saved his life? Every sigh and moan caused
another crack in Oscar’s cool facade.
When
the cuts were clean, he covered the area with a large piece of cotton
gauze, holding it in place with medical tape. Oscar stepped back to
admire his handiwork. Trent looked almost rugged with the bandage. It
was a contrast to his innocent, midwestern face and sun-kissed skin. And
it was sexy as hell.
Oscar
forced away the thought. This man despised him and clearly had a thing
against vampires in general. He was straight! Yet Oscar couldn’t help
drinking in the sight of Trent as he relaxed against the wooden chair
with his eyes closed.
“How are you feeling, Trent?” Anthony asked, startling Oscar. He hoped he hadn’t been staring for too long.
Trent’s eyes fluttered open. “Okay. The sting is duller.”
Anthony stepped toward him, reaching out to help him up.
“Good. Let’s go sit you down in the common area. I can get some ibuprofen for the pain.”
Trent
grabbed Anthony’s hand and heaved himself up. As they moved to the
door, Trent looked over at Oscar with a strange look on his face. A
question. Did he not want to leave Oscar?
“I’ll be right there,”
Oscar said. A smile sprang up unbidden at Trent’s expression. “I just
need to wash your blood off my hands.”
“That is a weird thing to
hear,” Trent said, chuckling low. A spark of electricity ran up Oscar’s
spine at the deep, rich sound.
What was wrong with him?
As
Trent and Anthony left, Oscar went over to the porcelain farmhouse
sink, tossing the scraps of gauze and medical tape in the trash as he
passed it. He turned on the water and held out his hands.
There
wasn’t too much to wash off. The wound had dried, other than a few
drips when the t-shirt was removed. A quick rinse and he was clean.
Except for the single droplet of Trent’s blood that sat on the side of the knuckle of Oscar’s right pointer finger.
He
didn’t know why he did it. It was an impulse, a sudden desire with no
logic or reason. After staring at the burgundy bead for a long moment,
he brought his hand to his face and licked it off.
His
vision blew out in a bright rainbow of color. The taste of it exploded
his senses, and a thrilling tingle ran from his tongue, down his throat,
and spread to every inch of his body. He was overwhelmed with the
sensation.
Never mind the sweet, perfect flavor of it. Honey and
clove. It was all Oscar wanted to taste for the rest of his life. The
intense, thrilling assault on his senses could only mean one thing.
No.
He couldn’t be Trent’s mate. Would the universe do this to him? Would
fate give him a mate who despised the very idea of it? A man who wanted
nothing to do with vampires? Who wanted nothing to do with him? Who
probably hated him?