by M. A. Grant
“What happened to breakfast?” Atlas asked when Cristian slipped under the stream beside him. His hand lingered at Cristian’s hip, a tentative, sweet touch, and Cristian wanted to weep from frustration. While he longed to press their naked bodies together and give Atlas a better start to the morning, there was no time.
“Your coffee’s out there,” Cristian told him. “I drank a bag in the kitchen.” He grabbed some soap and began scrubbing at himself furiously.
His antics made Atlas wary, and he removed his hand in favor of stepping back to watch the chaos unfolding. “What’s going on?”
“Bogdan caught me on my way back from the kitchen.” Cristian reached for the shampoo. He sniffed it tentatively. The botanical scent was light and would likely fade as the day went on. It wouldn’t bother him, or Atlas, if one of his migraines came on. He began washing his hair and added, “Mihai needs to speak to us. Says it’s related to the Council.”
“Shit,” Atlas mumbled.
He abandoned Cristian and the shower and stalked across the bathroom to grab a towel from the stack of fresh, folded linens. Cristian finished washing, turned off the water, and caught the towel Atlas threw to him.
“I’ll get dressed,” Atlas informed him before abandoning the bathroom.
He found Atlas dressed and sipping coffee when he got back to their bedroom. The worn denim jeans Atlas sported fit in all the right spots, stretching over his thighs and cupping his ass to perfection. He’d thrown on a long-sleeve shirt, probably to keep off the chill of the underground rooms. Most wouldn’t even notice the dark green color since there were no logos to focus on, but Cristian wasn’t most people. The first time Cristian had seen Atlas wear an actual color—his navy-blue suit—he’d stopped in his tracks. This time, he managed to keep moving, despite the view, and dug around his bag for a few of Atlas’s borrowed clothes that would fit decently.
Atlas did his best to not watch Cristian dressing, at least, until he dragged on Atlas’s worn t-shirt. The small Whitethorn emblem printed in black ink on the left side stood out from the white shirt. Cristian plucked the shirt away from his chest to look down at it, and glanced back to Atlas. “Want me to wear something else?”
“No,” Atlas said, and glanced away as he set down his coffee cup. His voice was raspier than normal, probably from the bite of the drink. “I don’t mind sharing my clothes.”
Cristian would have dismissed the comment as unimportant, if not for the sweet bloom of Atlas’s interest. He groaned out a Romanian curse his father had made him promise to never say near his mother. “We have to go,” Cristian said when he finished. “But we are returning to this conversation as soon as we can.”
Bogdan waited for them in the hall. He hurried them from the guest wing, down silent halls, and into the echoing expanse of the main room. They helped Bogdan pry open the door to the pool cavern. At the far end of the hall, Bogdan pulled out a key just like Crina’s and unlocked the entry to the Dunării family’s private living space.
Mihai was already there, a cup of fresh coffee in hand. Even from the doorway, Cristian could smell the spice and sweetness of warmed, sugared brandy wafting from his cup. He couldn’t remember exactly the last time Decebal drank a marghiloman, only that it was ages ago when an important deal had fallen through. He needed to mourn the deal—and the human toll of the fallout—and allowed himself only as much time as it took to finish the small cup’s worth of the beverage. Then he rose and went about his next order of business.
Mihai’s stern expression now made Cristian wonder if the news they were about to hear was just as bad. Bogdan closed the door, trapping them inside the comfortable sitting space. With no other choice, Cristian slunk closer. He selected a seat in a chair within speaking distance, but too far for Mihai to reach for him without giving ample warning. Atlas, in full bodyguard mode, took the seat beside Cristian, angling himself so he could use his own body as a barrier if necessary.
Mihai noticed Atlas’s placement, but his expression didn’t change at his guests’ obvious wariness. “I assume,” Mihai said, “that Decebal sent you here for a reason.”
“Yes,” Cristian agreed.
“You are using pseudonyms on purpose?” When Cristian nodded, Mihai admitted, “I have been unable to reach your father to learn the whole story, so I must ask you, why are you here?”
He couldn’t lie. Mihai was one of the older vampires on the Council and centuries of experience wouldn’t be fooled. He also couldn’t give up Atlas’s past, not after promising it would stay between them. So, he did the next best thing he could: he mostly told the truth.
He explained, in English, how Atlas came into his life, about his father’s fears of a mole within their territory and, possibly, family. Mihai wasn’t surprised by that news, and Cristian guessed his father had spoken to the man about the situation before it had all gone to hell. Maybe Mihai had even offered advice. It wasn’t until Cristian relayed the attempts made against him and his father’s businesses, as well as Andrei’s betrayal that Mihai took true interest.
He set down his cup and leaned forward in his chair, hands clasped beneath his chin as though the pose would help him better listen to Cristian’s story.
“Our consilier confirmed that Andrei had been working for the Wharrams,” Cristian said, and Mihai’s face twisted in a paroxysm of disgust.
“Of course they’re involved,” Mihai snarled.
Atlas tensed at the violent response and Cristian leaned forward. On the surface, it would appear he wanted to be closer to Mihai, a co-conspirator. Only Atlas would know his true intention when he spread his legs wider, until his knee pressed lightly against Atlas’s thigh. A silent show of support and promise nothing would go sideways.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Cristian remarked.
Mihai waggled a finger, ignoring his comment. “We will return to them. Continue.”
“Andrei’s death didn’t end the danger in our territory.” He glanced at Atlas, who pressed back against his knee and spoke for him.
“The nest was attacked. Mr. Vladislavic ordered me to get Mr. Slava to safety,” Atlas said, speaking at last as he held Mihai’s intense gaze. “With no knowledge of who staged the attack, or whether they would come after us again, I couldn’t allow Mr. Slava to remain in Scarsdale. He suggested we come here. He mentioned his father’s connection to you and it was the best option we had. We didn’t intend to disrupt your efforts to find your son.”
“I am very glad you came to me, regardless of Radu’s disappearance,” Mihai said, leaning back into his chair at last. He shifted his focus from Atlas to Cristian. “However, I fear you may not be as safe here as you hoped.”
Dread clutched low in his gut, twisting viciously when Atlas stood abruptly, blocking Mihai’s access to Cristian. “Why not?” Cristian whispered.
“I received word this morning that the Council is sending a team to my territory.”
“What could they possibly have to investigate here?”
“Mr. Kinkaid, your charge is in no danger from me. Sit and allow me to continue my business with Cristian unimpeded,” Mihai ordered.
Atlas lingered a bit too long, considering how sharply Mihai had spoken, but he eventually obeyed. To Cristian’s surprise, Mihai didn’t look irritated by Atlas’s protective streak, but faintly amused. Only after Atlas sat back down, even closer to Cristian than he had previously, did the vampire elder speak again.
“Radu disappeared while searching for answers to recent attacks in our territory. Ispáns have reached out due to attacks and killings in their counties. There are always deaths in any large territory, but these have been too similar for my taste.”
“Could someone be hunting your people?” Atlas asked.
Mihai chuckled and shook his head. “We killed the last hunters four centuries ago,” he declared proudly.
Dispatching the va
mpire hunters who had risen with various churches’ blessings solved a short-term problem, but created a longer-running one... Power vacuums never went unfilled. Something had filled that space.
Cristian frowned. “Then what is murdering your people?”
Mihai unclasped his hands and held them up in a signal of ignorance. “Disturbing rumors reached us, of injuries which could only have been inflicted by another of our kind. Radu left to speak to the ispáns of the affected counties. I hoped he would find an answer quickly. Instead, he vanished.”
“I wonder if he got too close to learning the truth,” Atlas murmured, voicing Cristian’s unspoken thought.
“I, too, fear this,” Mihai admitted. “Especially after speaking to Emil.” He glanced at Cristian. “Do you remember him? He fought alongside your father.”
Cristian shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“He has been concerned about events occurring in his ispán’s county and wished to speak to me directly,” Mihai said. “I have trusted him with my life, and now I trust him with my son’s. He intends to search for Radu as he travels the county.”
“He considers Radu’s disappearance suspicious?” Cristian asked.
“He does, and he knows I will soon have limited time and power to devote to the search.”
“What could possibly limit your search?” Atlas asked carefully.
A faint line of tension bracketed Mihai’s mouth as he said, “The Council’s visit here is not to aid us. They are to determine whether I could have prevented the rising violence in this territory and to cast judgment based on their discoveries.”
“That is not an investigation. It’s a tribunal,” Cristian clarified, nerves flaring. “Who are they sending?”
“No one from the surrounding territories,” Mihai said.
“That doesn’t guarantee political neutrality,” Cristian shot back.
Mihai gave a dark smile. “Your father’s taught you well. The group will be given lodging here, as is customary in such cases. Ignacio Martinez will be responsible for our financial audit. The Council elders have requested Nam Seo-Yun to lead the investigation on the ground, collecting interviews and evidence from the living and the dead. She will be supported by Ilya Kuznetsov.”
The Council was being suspiciously careful with their choices of tribunal members. The Argentinians and Koreans had been growing stronger for decades, forging new alliances and establishing impressive trade networks and tourism programs to draw donors to their territories. The far northern Russian territory had been a stronghold of the Council for centuries, Kuznetsov was a name Cristian had heard again and again in stories and debriefings of Council business; he guessed Ilya was probably one of the young members of the family looking to prove himself to the elders. If the tribunal found no evidence of wrongdoing, none of the families’ reputations would suffer negatively for the involvement. But if they did find something...such a tribunal would catapult their youth into strong political futures.
“An eager, but rather unimpressive, group,” Cristian said dryly. “None of their families have issues with my father. They’re unlikely to prove you guilty, so none of the families have sent their strongest members. Why did you want to warn us of their arrival?”
“Because they aren’t the only Council members coming. Theo Wharram will be accompanying them.” Mihai nodded sagely when Cristian swore and Atlas’s pulse shot up. “That was the word I received this morning, and that is why I called you to speak to me. Now that I know of your great-uncle’s betrayal, I doubt you wish for the Wharrams to know of your presence here.”
“They’ll learn it at some point,” Cristian conceded, “but the longer we can avoid them, the better it will be for everyone.”
“How would they learn we’re here?” Atlas asked him with a wary look.
He didn’t get a chance to answer. Mihai spoke first. “The Council sends the Wharrams when they believe there are secrets to be collected. I have kept them out of my territory for centuries, but they are using this tribunal as an opportunity to sneak in and gather the intelligence I’ve denied them. They are the holders of our kind’s memoriam sanguinis.”
“Memory blood?” Atlas guessed.
Cristian snorted. “I can’t believe the sanctimonious bastards still call it that,” he grumbled, before nudging Atlas’s thigh with his knee. “And close enough. Blood memory. They witness and catalog everything they can from their feeding.”
“And then they turn it against any who stand in their way. How else would a fyrd leader rise in status compared to the other elders? Compared to emperors and khans and kings?” Mihai asked. “Knowledge is their only asset, and they now hold enough of it that they can do as they wish. Learning my territory’s history will be a coup for them.”
“Do they have the Council’s permission to feed from you?” Atlas asked bravely. Cristian knew he was gathering information, putting together what he could, so they could make the best decision possible. He had no idea how personal or potentially offensive the question he’d asked was.
Mihai stared at Atlas for a long, quiet moment, probably trying to figure out whether he was being challenged or posed an honest inquiry. After what felt like an eternity, he replied, “No. They do not have permission.” He looked to Cristian and added, “Yet.”
“You expect the Council to grant them permission though,” Cristian said.
Mihai nodded.
“How long do we have before they get here?” Atlas asked.
“They will be here in two days’ time. I do not know where they will visit first, or how they will divide their time. The Council has given them two weeks before they must give their judgment.”
“The timing of your son’s disappearance, and the Council’s arrival is too coincidental,” Atlas said.
“If Radu learned something that could help you prove your innocence to the Council, he’d be an easy target,” Cristian pointed out. “Let us look for him.” He ignored Atlas’s pointed look and continued, “If we have permission to cross freely in and out of your ispáns’ territories, we can track Radu’s movements and hopefully find where he went.”
“You will need to avoid the Wharrams,” Mihai said.
“Yes. We’ll leave today,” Atlas told Cristian, urgent and focused. “Get ahead of them and keep out of their way until we find Radu and can get him back here. Hopefully whatever he shares will ensure this tribunal ends.”
“So the Council leaves and we’re safe to stay here if necessary,” Cristian finished.
“I will have Crina send word to all my counties immediately. If you find yourselves heading north and reach the county of a man named Grigore, you can reach out to Emil. I placed him as the vice-ispán there. I will ensure you have his number before you leave. We will also provide you a car to use, which should provide you additional protection if you travel during daylight hours.”
Cristian glanced at Atlas. “Where should we start?”
Mihai answered for him. “Speak to Ileana... She is likely to have the best idea of Radu’s plans.”
“We will,” Atlas promised Mihai. He and Cristian stood at the same time, both moving smoothly within each other’s space, as if they’d been doing it forever. Atlas offered a hand to Mihai and added, “Thank you for your hospitality, sir.”
“A pleasure, even when short-lived, is a pleasure,” Mihai mused, accepting Atlas’s hand and shaking it firmly. He glanced back to Cristian and, for the first time during their meeting, said in Romanian, “Is he armed?”
“No,” Cristian admitted. “I don’t even know where to look.”
“I will have Bogdan bring you something,” Mihai promised. “I have a few souvenirs left of my days hunting those humans who dared think they hunted us. Perhaps your guard will be more capable with them than their unfortunate owners.”
Cristian had no doubt Atlas would.
Chapter Three
They left after visiting Ileana to see if she had any clues to Radu’s whereabouts. She couldn’t offer much. Radu had sent her a picture he’d taken with some friends at a bar in a small town west of Braşov; it was his last communication with her. She gave them the supposed address and wished them good luck.
Now, walking down the damp street and studiously not thinking of the way the light rain caught in his hair and dripped down his neck to his shirt collar, Cristian wondered why Radu would have wanted to stop here, of all places. The town hunkered in the valley formed by the rolling foothills of mountains, its red tiled roofs and whitewashed buildings standing out like beacons against the ocean of forest on all sides. The fields were a mixture of greenery and furrowed dirt, and the road into town was marked with muddy wheel tracks. This late, light only spilled from behind curtains in a handful of houses, from the front of the church that stood proudly at the town’s crossroads, or from the dingy electrical light illuminating the stoop of the building they were heading for.
Perhaps most unnerving was how there was nothing amiss about the place. No dark secrets lurked in the shadows, no scent of death hung in the air. The quiet farming town had simply drifted off to sleep with its inhabitants.
The peace didn’t stop Atlas from reaching to check the handle of the silver-plated kukri Mihai had armed him with. Despite Cristian’s assurance that the supple leather of the back harness and the carefully oiled sheath couldn’t be seen under the tailored lines of his new jacket, Atlas continued to check the blade’s placement.
Cristian swatted Atlas’s hand away from his lower back. “No one is going to notice unless you keep fidgeting with it.”
Atlas scowled and prepared to argue, but Cristian silenced him and pointed to the small building ahead of them. “That should be the bar.”
The raised stone step leading inside was swept clean. There were no posters or advertisements for different beverages posted outside. Hell, there wasn’t even a business sign. Donors would have no hope of wandering in off the street, not unless they’d been given specific instructions. Word of mouth could provide only so much financial support; the patronage of a few generous vampiric backers was the only other option Cristian could think of that would keep the place in operation.