by M. A. Grant
He brushed his thumb along Cristian’s cheekbone and said softly, “I can’t imagine how difficult that was for you.”
A fragility he thought he’d buried long ago scratched its nails against the lid of its coffin, and he shivered at the reminder of its unnatural life. He wasn’t made for kindness. It made him open his heart too easily and it hurt too deeply when things inevitably fell apart. Other vampires he thought he’d loved grew bored or considered him too human, too emotional. And the humans... Well, they loved him passionately while they were young, but when age began to take hold, fractures always grew between them. Jealousy, health concerns with feeding, rage when he wouldn’t bring their case to the Council and ask to have them turned... It was easier to appreciate them for a night and to not look back.
He’d tried that with Atlas. Tried and failed, then tried again and again, drawn back to him without any rational explanation of why. Even after they’d both hurtled over their professional lines, even after the previous day’s intimacies, Cristian knew deep in his heart that Atlas was the kind of man he’d never hold on to, no matter how desperately he tried.
And, oh, how he wanted to hold on to this man.
Atlas stood there, waiting for Cristian to fall apart. If his earnest expression meant anything, he hoped to console him. This wasn’t the same man who’d said Cristian’s death would be a welcome gift to the world. After seeing the vampiric world through an outsider’s eyes tonight, Cristian feared Atlas’s gentleness wasn’t given out of love. He didn’t want the man’s pity, or to be a convenient distraction.
“It was harder on you,” he said. Atlas dropped his hands when Cristian turned to unlock the second door and escape the complicated riot of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. “You handled it well enough, at least. Impressive, Mr. Kinkaid.”
“It’s easier to stay calm when you can’t understand what they’re saying. You have to rely on all the other details,” Atlas said. He allowed Cristian to cross into their room before stepping inside after him and closing the door. Cristian made sure to keep most of the lights off since Atlas had been wincing against the light of the vestibule; he tried to hide the signs of an oncoming migraine, but Cristian knew most of his tells by now.
“Don’t forget your meds,” Cristian said, and toed off his shoes.
Atlas grumbled something, but a few seconds later, he rummaged through his bag and retreated to the bathroom. Cristian wanted to count it as a victory, except Atlas’s surrender was a sign of how badly he felt.
A moment later, the sink shut off. Atlas didn’t fully exit the room. He wedged his shoulder against the doorframe and watched Cristian from the threshold instead. Rather than enter the staring contest Atlas clearly wanted to have, Cristian sprawled on his side of the bed, feigning ease by clasping his hands behind his head. Atlas snorted at the blatant avoidance and abandoned the bathroom. He tossed the door key on the dresser and stripped off his jacket.
Cristian really should have found something else to focus on. The blade’s harness cut tight over Atlas’s toned chest, wrinkling his shirt in a few places. A slew of distracting thoughts, most involving leather straps against Atlas’s bare skin instead of the shirt fabric, ground his mind to a jarring halt.
“My eyes are up here, Mr. Slava,” Atlas said, far too calmly.
A flush rushed to his cheeks, and Cristian returned his gaze higher. “Just appreciating all the other details I’ve come to rely on.”
“I’m flattered, but now can you tell me what was said?”
He heaved a dramatic sigh. “Probably not. And the basic summary is Grigore doesn’t like us.”
“Even I got that. What did you say that set him off there at the end?”
“I mentioned his master’s name and called him to heel like he deserved.”
“How illuminating,” Atlas said, a thread of frustration weaving its way through his sarcasm as he fought the buckles of the harness. “So the man who escorted us down was Emil? What was with the conversation you two had?”
“We’ve secured time with him, at Grigore’s command. He’s supposed to help me find a donor to feed from.”
Atlas froze, a leather strap between his fingers, and stared at Cristian. “A donor?”
Cristian made a face. “I’m not actually going to feed from anyone. It’s an excuse to meet with Emil for a longer period of time, that’s all.”
“No, I—I know that. I just—” Atlas sat heavily on the edge of the bed, facing Cristian as he tried to put together the words. He seemed to have entirely forgotten about removing the blade and the straps holding it in place gapped and pulled in unusual places. “Do you need to feed?”
Cristian sat up abruptly, confused by the sudden shift in the conversation’s direction. “Why does that matter?”
“There was more than what I noticed in that nest, and I know you sensed it all. I got overwhelmed. Too many donors, too few who looked like they knew what was happening to them. And there was so much blood. I couldn’t smell anything else...” He trailed off, uncomfortable, and Cristian feared what he’d say next. “I’d understand if it made you—”
Cristian closed his eyes and cursed his hopeful heart to hell and back. He’d asked Atlas to be honest, but if he let the man finish that statement, heard what Atlas really thought of him, he might not survive it.
“Made me what?” he asked, suddenly exhausted. “Made me hungry, Mr. Kinkaid? Do you think seeing those donors would do that to me? You think I want to feed from anyone after seeing how Grigore runs this county?” His disgust over Grigore’s nest and cruel leadership began to transform into something else, something sharper and angrier. He stood, needing to know if Atlas considered him capable of such cruelty, and fearing the answer at the same time. “I turned down the donors he offered me, and I’ll turn down any offers made by Emil tomorrow. I wouldn’t accept even if you offered tonight. What we saw in the nest, the way they control and mistreat humans who trust them and who should be cared for, is unforgivable. I would never—couldn’t—”
He shuddered when Atlas reached out and brushed his fingers over his arm. When Cristian didn’t draw away, Atlas grew bolder and enfolded him in a tight hug. He buried his face against Cristian’s neck, in the place where he liked to rub in his chamomile oil. He breathed in deeply, as if he were centering himself, and said in a hoarse whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. You aren’t like them. Not at all.”
Until he heard the apology, he didn’t know how deeply he needed to know Atlas didn’t consider him the same kind of monster as Grigore. He sagged against Atlas, huffing when the man’s arms tightened around him even more.
“I wasn’t going to offer to feed you,” Atlas admitted.
“What were you going to say then?” Cristian mumbled into his shoulder.
“That I’d understand if it made you angry.” He hummed at Cristian’s embarrassed silence. “I figured it would.”
“You don’t know me,” Cristian grumbled.
“Liar,” he said fondly. “You act like an absolute shit most of the time, but you care about others, especially the underdogs.” He loosened his arms enough to draw back, and Cristian tried to hide from his keen observation. “It’s more than that though. What else is bothering you?”
When Cristian didn’t answer, Atlas teased him gently, “This will require you to talk to me.”
Hearing his own words repeated back was the nudge he needed. “We came here because Mihai and his family have been my father’s allies for centuries. And I...” Swallowing did nothing to ease the lump trying to root itself in his throat. “I don’t know if I can let that continue.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mihai placed Emil, one of his most experienced and trusted warriors, into Grigore’s county. Emil has surely been reporting on what’s going on here. And if Mihai had an issue with Grigore’s leadership, he would h
ave killed him and installed another ispán. He hasn’t. What if Mihai knows what’s happening here and has decided the cost of such suffering is negligible compared to the gains?”
The warmth of Atlas’s hand rubbing slowly up and down his spine grounded him, even as the other man reasoned, “You assume Mihai knows everything we do. Do we have proof Emil is reporting the truth to him?”
“Mihai trusts him the same way he trusts my father. That means something.” Cristian reburied his face against Atlas’s shoulder. The skin-warmed cotton of his shirt felt safe, and Cristian desperately needed to lose himself in that sensation for a few more minutes before facing reality again.
“Maybe that’s why Radu wanted to deal with it himself first. Maybe he knew his father would only trust him against Emil’s word.”
Cristian groaned. “We have to find Florica. Emil is our only potential ally here.”
“I don’t like it,” Atlas muttered.
“I don’t either, but surely nothing will go wrong,” Cristian said, pulling back and giving Atlas a hollow grin.
Atlas’s scathing look warned he was just as tired of playing this game of everything’s alright. The permission to drop the last of his defenses in front of this man was a precious gift. Cristian stopped concentrating so hard on schooling his features into the correct expression. The base of his skull felt like it had been gnawed raw, and he doubted Atlas was faring much better, even with the meds in his system.
“It’ll be fine,” he said, willing himself—and Atlas—to believe it.
He clearly didn’t because he rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue either. Instead, he released Cristian to finish stripping off his harness. He placed the blade on his bedside table. “Shower, then bed?”
“Yes,” Cristian agreed. The promise of curling up beside Atlas and putting this night behind them was too strong a temptation to resist, and he followed him eagerly.
Chapter Six
The next night, Emil met them in the town’s central esplanade.
He sat on the edge of a planter box, watching a team of workers set up a stage for what would likely be a concert. He glanced up when he heard their footsteps, and even in the artificially lit darkness, Cristian caught the glint of yellow eyes and a dark smudge at the corner of his mouth.
Atlas tensed beside him when he spotted proof of Emil’s recent feeding. The momentary hitch in his step didn’t slow him for long though, and he was back at pace with Cristian before anyone else would have noticed. But Cristian noticed.
He reached up and tapped the corner of his mouth with a finger, knowing Emil would be able to see the movement in the darkness. Emil’s eyes widened and he grimaced before turning around, offering them his back. The smudge had vanished when he turned back to them.
“My apologies,” Emil said in a low, gravelly voice.
Cristian tried to scent the air subtly, but only caught the sharp, clean scent of lemongrass. Emil had taken great pains to cover up his scent, just as Cristian did. Whatever he was doing for Mihai in this county, it required artifice.
Cristian tucked that away to share with Atlas later, and waved off Emil’s apology. “Everyone needs to feed.”
“I was surprised to see you in the nest yesterday. That was a dangerous risk to take.”
“The cost of inaction was too high to not take such a risk,” Cristian replied.
“So it seems,” Emil mused as they drew up a few, scant feet away. “And who is this with you?”
Cristian indicated Atlas. “My partner,” he said. “Are you comfortable speaking in English? Otherwise I will translate for him later.”
Emil shrugged. When he spoke again, he’d already made the switch. “English is fine.”
Atlas didn’t completely relax, but the grim line of his mouth eased slightly. “Thank you.”
“You said you were looking for a woman named Florica,” Emil said. When Cristian nodded, he asked, “Why?”
Cristian answered his question with another question. “What did the voivode tell you about his son when you visited the nest the other day?”
Emil shifted from foot to foot and took several slow, careful breaths. Small groups meandered through the open space, and every so often a biker passed by. None of them were interested in the discussion though. After a long moment, Emil said, “He requested all vice-ispáns watch for his son in their territories. He gave us free reign to tell our ispáns’ people however we wished.”
“How did Grigore share this?” Atlas asked.
Emil frowned. “He didn’t.”
Cristian started. “What?”
“Grigore gave no order for his people to search for Radu.” Emil shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I was told to not inform anyone of Radu’s disappearance.”
“Because that’s not suspicious,” Cristian muttered.
Emil tilted his head and began a slow walk to the far end of the esplanade. Cristian and Atlas followed after him. The attractive avenue was surrounded by a mixture of charming apartments and modern buildings. Colored lights from different business signs lit up the carefully laid paving tiles below their feet. Cristian would have enjoyed visiting it as a tourist, dragging Atlas with him as they explored shops and cafes. There was no romance to be found now, as Emil continued their sobering conversation. “I informed the voivode of my concerns about Grigore’s silence on the matter after the other vice-ispáns left. Combined with the other problems, we both—”
“What other problems?” Cristian interrupted.
“Some of our donors have gone missing,” Emil admitted. “And a number of our people as well. The attacks have been...animalistic. Brutal enough to capture the attention of the human police.”
Animalistic? Cristian glanced over. Atlas appeared nonplussed, but his fingertips brushed against the collar of his shirt in an aborted reach toward his scars. Hoping to keep Emil from noticing, Cristian kept his tone light and asked, “Really?”
“Yes. Like nothing we’ve seen before. Grigore swears no part in it, but it’s grown beyond him. Someone reached out to the Council.”
“So that’s why they’re here,” Atlas said. “To investigate the disappearances, not Grigore?”
Emil nodded and glanced at Cristian. “How does this Florica fit into things?”
“She was a donor. She met with Radu and whatever she said about Grigore’s involvement was bad enough Radu said he’d head this way to deal with it himself.”
Emil came to a stop in the middle of the plaza. He stared at Cristian, confused. “Grigore?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, thinking back to Mircea’s memory. “He didn’t want anyone to know he was coming here.”
“But Radu has disappeared,” Emil pointed out.
“He has. If we can find Florica, she could share her memories with the Council’s team and prove that Mihai isn’t involved. We wouldn’t need Radu’s help.”
“How do you intend to find her?”
Atlas cleared his throat, preventing Cristian from speaking up. “Mr. Vladislavic keeps track of donors in his area. Does Grigore do the same?”
Emil pulled out his phone. The screen illuminated his face and the thoughtfulness he wore as he began typing away. “In a manner of speaking.”
As he worked, Cristian stole a glance at Atlas. He’d deliberately omitted Florica’s kidnapping from the safe house. His doubts about Emil were on clear display.
“I have an address for her apartment,” Emil said at last. He rattled it off and Cristian dutifully typed it into their phone. “You can try to find her there.”
“You can’t take us there?” Atlas pressed.
Emil frowned and put his phone away. “No,” he said bluntly. “Grigore would ask too many questions for such a long absence. The voivode ordered me to not draw attention, and with the Council’s presence, it is even more important f
or me to stay in his good graces. I will not risk alerting him to the voivode’s suspicions.” He gave Cristian a faint smile. “Not even for my old friend’s son. This is the most help I can provide.”
“We appreciate it,” Cristian said.
Emil nodded at him, glanced at Atlas, and turned away, heading back through the esplanade. It wasn’t until he was a small figure in the distance that Cristian grumbled, “You really don’t like him.”
“No. Something’s wrong,” Atlas said. “None of this feels right.”
“I didn’t know disappearances, kidnappings, and murders could feel right,” Cristian said. Atlas glared at him and Cristian held up his hands. “Look, let’s just get this over with as fast as we can. Her apartment isn’t far. We can go visit tonight.”
“We should wait—”
“We can’t. The Council will be here any night now, and we know Florica was taken against her will. This isn’t just about Mihai or Radu anymore. She deserves to have someone looking for her too.”
Atlas didn’t have an argument for that. He settled into discontented silence instead and followed after Cristian as they walked back toward the haven.
* * *
The apartment was a short drive from the haven, in an upscale part of town. The building was shorter than those around it—only five stories—but the wide balconies for each apartment curled around the facade like bands of chocolate icing around a cake. At this late hour, most apartments were dark. Cristian and Atlas headed for the building door on the ground level anyway and got lucky; a woman was leaving just as they were heading in, and she politely held the door open for them. Cristian thanked her, and they ducked inside. A quick check of the mailboxes in the lobby confirmed Florica’s apartment was up on the fifth floor.
“Stairs,” Atlas murmured.
Cristian didn’t argue. Taking the stairs meant he’d have some time to process the sensory details of the place, including whatever noises were coming from the homes around them. There wasn’t much to take in though. The faint strains of a running TV sounded from the nearest apartment on the second floor and the lingering scent of oil and spices from takeout in the hall of the third floor. The place was unnaturally peaceful, even as they emerged from the stairwell onto the fifth floor.