Paxton was not amused. Other than the meetings with James' father, this little holiday in New York had been perfect. James had shown Paxton his favorite spots in the City, whereas Paxton insisted they also do the touristy things: museums, Central Park, shopping in NoHo. They had lived in their own little bubble, and it had been splendid. Paxton had been well-fed, well-fucked and happy.
That glow? Gone.
He glared at his little brother, noticing how he shaped up his glamors. He hadn't noticed how waxy Davian looked, but it was hard not to notice the vomiting. "You need a doctor," Paxton barked, "but we need to make an arrangement. James, find out if someone here wouldn't get upset by a tail. Ambriel, start talking."
The angel had been the best choice. While Davian would wallow in his own misery, Ambriel delivered the story quickly, and without lying. "Davian and Alex used Nightshade. Alex got sick from it, he passed out. I brought him to the hospital, Davian just arrived. He needs to find the doctor and tell them how much he used. I need to give them the details about Alex." Ambriel crossed his arms. "Alex is stable, but the doctor said he's not out of the woods yet. And they keep glaring at me."