by M. A. Grant
“Crystal,” he bit out.
“Good. I look forward to speaking with you again soon.”
She hung up and he held on to the copier until he got his legs back underneath him. He had to pull it together or Bea would come looking for him. Having an honest conversation with her was not an option.
He stuffed his phone in his pocket and ran his hands over his face, wiping away the cold sweat. No, he couldn’t talk to Bea about this, he decided as he slipped out into the main hall and headed toward her office. Not until he’d talked to Cristian first.
* * *
The chance to talk kept slipping away. They were never alone long enough, or Cristian was focused on something else, or the mood didn’t seem right. The first sign things might be returning to normal came when Cristian sent Atlas a short text nearly a week later. Rapture tonight, it read.
Atlas dressed up in the blue suit, hoping it might distract Cristian into a flash of good humor. He found a car waiting out in front of Decebal’s house like normal, so he didn’t bother to go inside. Instead, he texted Cristian, I’m here.
The door opened a minute later and an argument spilled out into the cool night air. Cristian emerged with Ioana and Andrei hot on his heels, both talking rapidly. Their petitions didn’t matter to Atlas, not when the sight of his charge rattled through him like a percussive blast. It had only been a day since his last shift, but Cristian was transformed. Of course his designer clothes fit perfectly, but his carefully coiffed hair was hastily finger-swept instead, and his jaw shaded with stubble. His eyes were shadowed.
“You and I are leaving, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian commanded shortly as he slid into the backseat. The door slammed shut, cutting off his friends before they could join him.
Andrei cursed and stomped back inside. Ioana stood between the house and the car, unable to bring herself to chase Cristian when he’d dismissed her so openly.
After what they’d been through together at Desolation House, Atlas wasn’t going to leave her worrying again. He lifted a hand in greeting and told her, “I’ve got him.”
“We’ll see you there then,” she said, but didn’t move. She remained in the driveway when Atlas pulled the car away. Her figure grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, until there was nothing behind them but an empty road.
“To Rapture?” Atlas asked.
“Not yet,” Cristian said. “Just...just drive.”
They had a full tank of gas, so Atlas obeyed. Cristian wasn’t in a mood for any conversation, let alone an honest admission of guilt and treachery, so Atlas kept himself busy by merging on and off the routes and interstates, disappearing in and out of the flow of traffic. He didn’t go too far from Scarsdale, instead traversing the city’s edges, sometimes indulging in the quiet promise of the smaller country roads with their cultivated fields and forested hillsides. It was on one of those roads around midnight that Cristian asked, “Can you pull over here?”
There was a turnoff ahead, which Atlas pulled into. He put the car in park and waited a moment before turning it off. The engine ticked as it cooled and the only other sound was their breathing in the enclosed space.
Maybe this was the right moment. Maybe out here, away from everyone else, he could find a way to convince Cristian he’d made an honest mistake and wanted to make up for it. He opened his mouth to begin when Cristian said, “Today’s the anniversary of my mother’s death.”
All his carefully organized apologies and rationalizations fled.
Cristian continued, “Don’t turn around. And don’t talk.”
The temptation to look back, to check on him in the mirror, was strong. The exhaustion in Cristian’s voice, his silent plea to listen, was stronger. Atlas kept his eyes on the expanse of dark road in front of them.
Cristian spoke quietly, his accent growing heavier as he struggled to get the words out. “I was still young when she died. She... It was just like with Mary. There was nothing but ashes left. We couldn’t even bury her. It’s been so long now. Little pieces keep disappearing, and every year I miss her more and more...”
He couldn’t hold his voice in any longer. “I hope the pain eases in time,” Atlas whispered. Inadequate words, but honest.
Silence from the back. “You’re the first person I can remember who didn’t apologize for her death,” Cristian said.
“It’s not my place to. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t know her. I only know you and, right now, I know you’re hurting.”
“Am I, Mr. Kinkaid?”
“Probably as much as I am, Mr. Slava.” His voice broke on the admission.
He wasn’t the only one carrying awful memories in his head. Cristian’s confession meant the moment they found Mary was so much worse than Atlas had thought. He’d been suffering with that for weeks and Atlas had never even known.
Cristian moved behind him. Atlas clenched his hands around the steering wheel to keep himself facing forward. He was rewarded by an amused huff when Cristian saw his effort, and he leaned over the console to look out the front windshield, trusting Atlas not to break his word.
Atlas didn’t need to. His senses had cataloged every detail about Cristian. The rustle of his clothes, the chamomile scent he favored, even his slow, measured breathing. He would never fail to find this man.
“I’ve shared my sob story,” Cristian said as they followed the bobbing path of a moth trying to choose between headlights. “You sounded like you wanted to say something. I hope you aren’t the type to leave a man wanting.”
It was an invitation to share his own burdens, but the teasing lilt of Cristian’s voice on the request and the comfortable darkness around them collided and sent Atlas’s mind spinning off in a completely different direction. He froze.
Cristian swore under his breath and gave Atlas’s bicep a reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t mean to pry, Atlas,” he murmured. “Breathe.”
Cristian didn’t release him until he found his breath again. It was different from his attempt to ground Atlas at Hahn Lake. He didn’t use his voice to try to snap Atlas out of the moment. He relied on the gentle pressure of his hand and no extraneous movements, nothing to trick Atlas’s brain into fight or flight. By the time Atlas figured out Cristian had misread the moment as another flashback, the other man had already retreated to the backseat and begun tapping on his phone. The chance for honesty had passed.
“How long will it take us to get back to Rapture?” Cristian asked him.
“Half an hour?” Atlas guessed. If he didn’t meander down side roads, they could manage it.
“The others have been waiting for a while and I know I need a drink. Or ten.” He sounded amused when he added, “Ioana always gets angry when I do this. Says it makes the day even harder. Will you be angry too, Mr. Kinkaid, or will you just be disappointed?”
Atlas shook his head. “Neither. Not tonight.” He couldn’t avoid the mirror any longer and caught Cristian’s gaze in it. “It’s your grief. Do what you need to. I’ll make sure you get home safely when you’re ready.”
Cristian’s eyes widened and he bit his lower lip before getting out a rough, “Drive, Mr. Kinkaid.”
Chapter Fourteen
Atlas obeyed. He felt Cristian’s gaze on him the entire drive back, just as he still felt the press of his hand on his bicep. That earlier touch lingered long after they parked in the employees’ lot—Cristian didn’t want to deal with the valet—and were let in the back door by an impatient Ioana. It remained when Atlas watched Cristian put on his fake exuberance to greet his friends in their private booth. It even remained after Dinu clapped Atlas on the shoulder when he and Cristian passed on their way to the bar.
The two men stood close together as they waited for their drinks. Cristian slouched against the bar and Dinu lounged near him. Their elbows brushed and they kept leaning in to each other as they tried to talk over the music. There was no
tension between them, no unspoken signs they wanted more space. It was a marvel to witness.
In his experience, touching wasn’t safe, unless it was a hug or kiss from Bea or his grandmother. Touch existed in silent, secret trysts that could get him discharged from the military, or medical emergencies focused on teammates he cared about. Touch had never come from a courageous need to comfort. But that’s why Cristian had laid a hand on him tonight, and Atlas ached for more.
The men were met with cheers when they returned with a ridiculous number of drinks. Cristian lifted his first from the tray and glanced at Atlas. “Are you sure, Mr. Kinkaid?” he called.
To an outsider, it looked like an offer of a drink. Atlas knew better.
“I’m sure, Mr. Slava,” Atlas replied. “I’ll be waiting over here when you’re done.”
Cristian relaxed at Atlas’s reassurance. He steadily nursed glass after glass as the night wore on, and refused all suggestions he feed. His friends slipped away from time to time, but he didn’t comment, seemingly content in his own company. Only Ioana, who abstained so she could drive the others home, guessed at the reality of the situation. She joined Atlas at the railing and offered him a glass of water.
“We’re going to need to go home soon,” she told him quietly. “Decebal’s only rule tonight is that Cristian gets back before sunrise.”
“Almost time to go then,” Atlas mused as he finished his drink.
Ioana nodded and looked over her shoulder at the others. “I’ll leave him to you?”
“Fine with me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kinkaid.” Ioana took Atlas’s empty glass and headed to the group.
She managed to get them corralled fairly quickly, though they had to wait for Andrei’s return from the bathroom. When he rejoined them, there were a few minutes of goodbyes and then Atlas and Cristian were alone.
He let Cristian finish off his drink before closing the distance between them. Cristian wasn’t very drunk for someone who’d been putting it away all night; Atlas wondered idly whether vampires could get drunk the same way humans could. Regardless, the lines of tension bracketing his lips had eased at last. He slouched comfortably in the booth and watched Atlas’s approach through heavy lids.
Atlas stopped a polite few inches away. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than I expected,” Cristian lamented. His legs sprawled open a little wider as he shifted to inspect Atlas. Whatever he saw made him heave a deep sigh and reach for another glass. “I don’t want to leave yet.”
He stepped into Cristian’s space. The brush of his thigh against Cristian’s knee sent an illicit thrill up his spine, especially when Cristian took a sharp inhalation. It was easy to lean forward and pluck the drink away before Cristian could get in another sip. “I’d rather not risk breaking tradition. This is the latest we’ve been out.”
“Past your bedtime, Mr. Kinkaid?” Cristian asked, tilting his head up. The movement made his hair fall away from his forehead and stretched the line of his neck. Atlas wanted to trace the tendon there.
Instead, he rolled his eyes and set the drink down before offering his hand to Cristian. “Not at all, Mr. Slava. But we’re skirting a little too close to dawn.”
Cristian reached up and clasped Atlas’s hand, allowing him to haul him to his feet. “Well, we can’t have that. Lead on.”
The street behind the club was quiet and empty when they emerged from the building. Atlas kept Cristian at his back out of habit as he hit the remote and let the car’s lights illuminate the darkness. There were a handful of other vehicles parked farther away, all belonging to the employees on this last shift, but no one else was around. Atlas wondered if he could convince Cristian to park here more often and sneak in the back. He didn’t know if it was breaking some kind of protocol to let Cristian in through the employees’ area. He should ask Decebal about that the next time they spoke.
“Thank you for tonight,” Cristian said, opening the front passenger door. His mood must have improved if he didn’t want to be alone in the backseat anymore. “I needed it.”
“Sure,” Atlas said.
The moment he sat, he knew something was wrong. Cristian shifted in his seat, as if that would somehow make the car feel more balanced. He threw a confused look at Atlas. “It feels off to you too, doesn’t it?”
“Stay in here,” he told Cristian.
He turned on his phone’s flashlight and moved toward the rear axle. He swore when he spotted the flat tire. It wouldn’t take him long to change it, but it was still a pain in the ass. Thank God he’d pushed for them to leave a little early. He stepped around and called for Cristian to pop the trunk, but swore again when he saw the rear tire on the passenger side was also flat. What were the fucking odds on that?
He dialed Helias, but the man didn’t answer. There was only one other person he could think of who might be able to help quickly. He found Cristian resting his elbows on the dashboard so he could peer up at the sky. “Can you call Ioana?” Atlas asked, noting the pale blues overhead. “We have two flats, so she’ll need to come get us.”
Cristian fumbled pulling his phone out. “What?”
“You heard me. Shittiest luck ever,” he lied, trying to ease Cristian’s worries. Two flats the same night, on the tires that were hardest to see from the door into the club... This wasn’t bad luck. This screamed something else, something bad, and he needed to focus and keep Cristian safe while they figured it out. “At least Ioana can drop them off and come back for us.”
“I don’t know if we’ll make it back in time,” Cristian said, voice tight with worry.
The same fear dug into Atlas’s heart, but he couldn’t give in to it yet. “We’ll still get back.” Atlas pointed at Cristian’s phone. “Call her.”
He used his own phone to check for a rideshare, but found no one in the area. A little more concerned, he started to look up cab companies when Cristian began speaking. Ioana must have answered finally.
“Put it on speaker,” Atlas told Cristian.
He did, and Atlas caught the tail end of her frantic “—the hell is going on over there?”
“Two of our tires are flat and we can’t get back to the house. I need you to come pick us up.”
“Atlas, we aren’t home yet. I won’t have time to get back to Rapture and then home before—”
Cristian growled something under his breath and unbuckled his belt, ripping free of it as he dragged himself out of the car. He ignored Atlas’s call for him to calm down and kicked the flat rear tire, spewing Romanian so fast Atlas couldn’t tell where one word ended and another began.
“Ioana, I need to go,” Atlas said and hung up.
Cristian had run out of steam by the time Atlas got close enough to hand back his phone. He accepted it without a word and leaned against the car.
“Hey,” Atlas said, nudging Cristian with his elbow, “I promised I’d get you back safely and I will. If we need to, we’ll hang out inside Rapture until nightfall. We’ll make this work.”
Cristian sighed, but didn’t argue. It was encouragement enough for Atlas to urge him up and herd him back toward the building. They were almost to the door when it opened and a lanky young man stepped out. He blinked when he spotted them and gave an awkward wave. “Umm, hi. You need something?”
“Flat tires,” Atlas called back.
“I don’t suppose you could give us a ride?” Cristian asked.
The man looked from Cristian to Atlas and back to Cristian. “I’ve just got my bike here, man.”
“Cozy. I promise I know how to ride,” Cristian said and stepped forward.
The entendre he’d thrown out—maybe deliberately, maybe not—definitely short-circuited the other man’s brain. The club employee’s eyes widened a bit and he gave Cristian a lingering look that made Atlas want to throw the useless car keys at him.
; “So,” Cristian said, moving even closer, “will you help? I’d make it worth your while.”
“You would?” the young guy asked, staring as though the world had narrowed itself down to Cristian alone.
Enough. If Cristian was dead set on getting home before dawn, Atlas would ensure it happened. He didn’t need anyone else to do it for him. He stalked forward. The man finally looked over and squeaked in dismay. Atlas pulled out his wallet and fished for the emergency cash he kept behind his driver’s license. He held it up in front of the young man’s face.
“We would be very grateful if you’d loan us your bike for an hour,” he said. And, because he was feeling petty, he added, “I’m sure Mr. Vladislavic would also appreciate you offering your assistance so I can get his son home.”
“M-Mr. Vladislavic?”
Atlas offered a cool smile. “The owner of Rapture, yes. I’ll make sure he knows how much you helped us...” He trailed off, lifting a hand to indicate he wanted the man’s name.
The guy picked up faster this time. “L-Leroy.”
“Thanks, Leroy. I’ll make sure Mr. Vladislavic knows he can thank you personally. Keys?”
The man scrambled to pull them out of his pocket. Atlas ignored Cristian’s soft chuckle behind him. Leroy started to hand the keys over, then paused, and looked over Atlas’s shoulder to Cristian.
“M-maybe I should drive Mr. Slava back. That way Mr. Vladislavic can meet me in person,” he said.
Cristian shook his head and tsked gently. “I wouldn’t bother him right now,” he said. “But we appreciate your help, Leroy. I promise Mr. Kinkaid will be very careful with your bike and will return it as soon as he is able.”
Damn, this shift was going to run long. It would be so much easier to hunker down in Rapture, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue with Cristian. Not on this grim anniversary. Atlas bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, silently agreeing to deal with the vehicle situation later.