After The I Do (Meeting At The Fault Line Book 1)

by Autumn Breeze

  “What is it now?” I ask, irritated. Can we not have one day, just one, to enjoy being married, being in love, before I take over for my father? Is one day really too much to ask the universe for?

  “City Utility called.” I frown. Why would they call? “A pipe burst in the building next to the studio,” he explains and Everett pales. “They turned off the water but . . . there was significant damage.” My heart thunders in my chest as I glance at Everett. He’s frozen.

  “Let’s go.” Everett shakes his head but I pull him from the house.

  As it turns out, ‘significant damage' wasn’t a significant explanation of the destruction we were to find at the art studio. The ceiling has fallen in, showering sheetrock and insulation everywhere. The buildings ducting held up under the water but most of the electric wires are fried. The fact the whole place hasn’t caught fire probably has more to do with the three inches of standing water than anything else.

  Everett’s gaze travels around the interior of the building. Nothing seems salvageable. The tables, chairs and other stray art supplies maybe but the building will have to be condemned unless someone pours a considerable amount of money into it. If Everett asks, I will but it hardly seems worth the trouble when relocation would be easier—cheaper.

  The doorbell chimes.

  “Everett?” Susan Dawson looks around with horror.

  Everett sniffs and wipes his eyes before turning to face his mother. I tuck my hands into my pockets and internally sigh.

  We can figure this out. He will be out of business for a few weeks but we can notify all his clients about what happened. In exchange for their patience, he can offer some kind of discount. Mason will love that since he is being charged the very low fee of providing Everett’s lunch on Fridays.

  “The main water line burst,” Everett explains.

  City Utilities explained that the pipes that ran through the building complex Everett’s studio was a part of hadn’t been replaced in a good number of years. When his next door neighbor’s main line burst, the water ran rampant through the attic all of the occupants shared. No one was spared but the studio suffered the most damage with the exception of the idiot next door.

  “Oh baby,” Susan coos, pulling Everett in for a hug. She looks over his shoulder at me helplessly.

  “We’ll relocate. You can find a building and I’ll have the city inspect it.” We should have had the city inspect this one but Everett had wanted to use an independent contractor and I agreed to let him handle business how he saw fit.

  “Your sisters and I can help. It shouldn’t take long with all of us looking,” Susan says. Everett pulls away and nods. I put my hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

  “We’ll figure it out, любимый. Maybe this is just a sign that you needed to upgrade; you were just telling me the other day that you regretted not getting a bigger space originally.” He had too many clients and not enough room for them all. With a new place, somewhere bigger, he won’t have that problem because he could plan accordingly.

  “But—”

  “You find the place and I will take care of everything else,” I tell him. Everett shakes his head.

  “Your succession is in . . . eight days,” he says.

  Grasping his shoulders, I turn him toward me. “I won’t ever be so busy that I don’t have time for you or your needs, Everett. You find the building, make whatever necessary changes to your original plans, and I will take care of everything else.”

  Everett closes his eyes and sighs. “Thanos—”

  “Excuse us, Mrs. Dawson; I plan to comfort my husband and I doubt you’ll want to be present for it,” I speak. Susan’s cheeks turn as pink as Everett’s.

  “I’ll call you . . . tomorrow,” she tells Everett. He nods, refusing to meet her gaze. They share an awkward hug before she departs. The door shuts behind her with a resounding bang.

  “I can’t believe you just . . . ” Everett’s cheeks blaze a deeper color as he thinks of what I could have possibly been implying.

  “I was just going to kiss you but if you want to make use of the storeroom one last time . . . ”

  “You jerk!” Everett punches me in the shoulder and I laugh. Looking around, he shakes his head at the mess. Most of it is contained to the front of the shop which is a small blessing within itself. “Come on then.”

  Bending, I catch him at the knees and toss him over my shoulder. He shrieks and slaps me on the ass. “Put me down!”

  “I will . . . in the store room.”

  “Thanos—”

  “I love you, too,” I tease him.

  “That isn’t what I was going to say,” he retorts, pinching me in the side. I laugh anyway and push into the storeroom. The room is elevated by a couple of inches so the floor is dry with the exception of a few spots where the ceiling leaked. “Or I was but . . . also, thank you. You’re a good man.”

  Pulling Everett from my shoulder, I sit him on the edge of a table. Grasping his cheeks, I tilt his head back so he is forced to look at me. My thumb moves over the corner of his mouth and I offer him a soft smile.

  “I am a better man with you, because of you,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He burst into tears as he curls his arms around my waist and digs his fingers into my back. There is a devastated note to each one of his sobs. It is as if the weight of the world is resting on his shoulders and all he can do about it is cry.

  “Shh,” I soothe, rocking him slightly. His chest shakes and he hiccups as tears soak my shirt. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay; I promise.”

  We can fix this. I can fix this. I will fix it.

  30

  Dismissing the donor, I join Everett in the bathroom. He is leaning against the sink brushing his teeth and organizing the contents of the counter in nothing more than his black and blue checkered boxers. I watch him for a moment before picking up my own brush and applying toothpaste. This has become routine for us. Most mornings, when we rise, we move side by side without so much as a thought to what we are doing.

  “Day plans?” Everett asks after spitting out the thick substance that filled his mouth. The question, as well as the spitting, is a pretty common occurrence around the bathroom sink.

  “I thought since it's wet out and our last attempt was interrupted, we could have a day to ourselves,” I reply, speaking awkwardly around the toothbrush.

  Conversation is halted. Everett swishes mouthwash. I cup water in my hands and spoon it into my mouth to rinse the remaining toothpaste and donor blood away.

  “I thought you had to go to Zone G to—” I lift an eyebrow and Everett flushes. “So, sometimes, I pay more attention to your work than I do my own.”

  Shaking my head at him, I chuckle softly. It isn’t as if his announcement is a surprise. He sits with me enough while I am working to know what my day to day goals and plans are when it comes to family business. As my husband, he is entitled to most of the details. He never really seems interested in them though, so it is odd that he is mentioning my business trip.

  “The Ersatz will hold for another day.” I am in no rush to travel so far out of our zone. Not to mention, it isn’t safe to travel into the predominately pixie territory alone. Since Father can’t accompany me I will have to ask Mason who has never liked to be involved in the . . . darker means to our family survival. Everett going isn’t even an option.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “I am positive I don’t want to go out in this weather.”

  Shaking his head, Everett holds out the bottle of mouthwash.

  “Are you scared you’ll melt?” he teases while I swish. I stare because I can’t answer with my mouth full. “They have umbrellas for that sort of thing.” I spit into the sink as he smirks.

  “You keep talking and I’m throwing you into the rain,” I warn even as I wash the sink out. His lips twitch because clearly he doesn’t believe I will do such a thing. He’s mistaken. I have no problem tossing him over my should
er then out the front door.

  “You wouldn’t dare,” he challenges. I lift an eyebrow in response.

  “Wouldn’t I?” I ask and he shakes his head.

  “I was under the impression you love me.”

  Is my love for him supposed to prevent me from throwing him in the rain?

  I don’t see it that way.

  “Were you?” I ask, taking a step toward him. He takes a step back but unless he turns and flees from the bathroom, there isn’t anywhere for him to go. Everett isn’t the running sort. He might scare easily but he’s no coward.

  “Thanos,” his voice trembles as I approach. He is worried; I can see it in the way he swallows and looks around for an escape that isn’t available. If I were a better person, I would probably have mercy on him but I’m not.

  “You love me?” I inquire.

  “Without a doubt,” he answers; there is no hesitation and that makes my heart warm but I ignore the welcome feeling.

  “Good.” I lunge for him and he realizes seconds too late what I plan to do.

  “Thanos!” he protests as I scoop him up and quickly exit the bathroom.

  “You’ll forgive me,” I tease him, “since you love me.”

  Isn’t that how love works?

  There is even a book humans worship that says something about it.

  I could almost remember the sound of my mother’s voice as she read from the nonsensical text the one thing that does make perfect sense, “Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy. It does not boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking; it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres—

  “Love never fails.”

  “Don’t you dare!” I pass through the bedroom door, exiting into the hallway. Everett screams with frustration, his fingers latching onto the edge of the doorway but he isn’t strong enough to halt my determined stride. “I don’t have pants on, Thanos!” he shouts.

  To be fair . . . “You don’t have a shirt on either.” Or socks. Or shoes. He’s virtually naked.

  Just the way I like him, I muse, my lips twitching as I fight a small laugh.

  “Put me down!” he demands, slapping my back before reaching for the stair banister. My back throbs and I step far enough over so the railing it out of reach. “Help, Ben!” Everett yells as my butler walks by since clearly I am not obeying orders.

  “I’m sorry, sir; my hands are full,” Ben explains, hurrying by.

  I laugh, continuing toward the ground floor. My employees may like Everett, even respect and love him on some level, but they are loyal to me—none more so than Benjamin Abbott.

  “You’re not even carrying anything, you traitor!” Everett huffs as I reach the end of the steps. “Please, Thanos,” he starts, moving on to begging because clearly no one is going to help him. I ignore him, the hitch in his voice and rapid breathing as I unlock the front door.

  The sky is an angry gray as fat rain pours from the sky and pounds against the ground with all the force of free falling nails. The clouds swirl as strong winds whip through the trees. I imagine weather witches naked as the day they were born, running through the downpour with their hands above their heads, chanting to whatever god they believe in as they have a grand time playing in the storm.

  “If you—” Pulling Everett from my shoulder, I sit him just outside the protection of the stoop awning. He shrieks like a terrified animal as I hold him in place, not letting him escape back into the safety of our home.

  I laugh as the rain quickly plasters his hair to his forehead. His fingers curl into his palms and he glares with all the fire of Apollo in his gaze. I see clearly in that second the mistake I have made; it is painted all over his face.

  His body rips in an all too familiar way and suddenly a large wolf is standing before me with rain cascading over his fur. There is a feral grin pulling his lips back to expose deadly canines and wild fire dances in his bright blue eyes. I’ve cultivated a whole new storm and this one has vengeance in its gaze.

  I take a step back. “Everett—”

  He lunges forward.

  Sharp teeth enclose my wrist and I look down at the powerful jaws wrapping around my flesh. If it was any other wolf, I probably would have snapped their neck in an instant but because it is my husband, a man I love and trust, I stand perfectly still. He jerks backward, his jaw a vice I am unable to fight against, yanking me out into freezing rain. I gasp as the cold water soaks into my shirt and slides down my spine like death’s icy fingers.

  “You hellhound,” I tease. Everett tosses his head and howls. The sound reverberates around the area and I close my eyes, letting it slide over me. His animal, the one he can so easily transform into, calls to the monster in me. A desire, one I have been trying to suppress for weeks now, raises its ugly head even though it shouldn't be present because I fed only twenty minutes ago.

  A wet head presses into my stomach and I look down, taking in the mutt as I battle what I want against what I need. I need to control myself but it is hard because of my want. Even like this, Everett is beautiful. My heart squeezes painfully.

  How is it he can make my soul hurt?

  How is it I can love him so much?

  Just a few months ago, I gave up on all hopes of ever being in love. Now . . .

  How is it that he is one of my best friends?

  How did I, of all the people in Necropolis, get so lucky?

  Just a few months ago, I would not have thought of this as luck.

  “You’d better run,” I mutter, taking only a moment to comb my fingers through his fur and catch the spot behind his ear I know he likes scratched. “When I catch you, I’m making use of my teeth.” I flashed my fangs at Everett as he searches my face. A light dances in his gaze as he inspects me before turning and racing into the rain.

  A smile pulls my lips as I count to ten, giving him a head start.

  It isn’t a big enough one to keep him out of my grasp for long.

  Everett whines, shifting into a man and collapsing into the mud as I land on his back after hardly more than ten minutes of my chase.

  Both of us pant as he stretches out. We are soaked; rain dripping from our hair and running off what little clothes I wear. The trees overhead offer little protection from the storm that rages. Tomorrow, if one or both of us doesn’t have a cold, I’ll be surprised. The sickness won’t be enough to taint this memory.

  “I think you cheated,” Everett declares as I lay over top of him. The protest reminds me of a younger sibling complaining about losing. Everett is no blood of mine, no one I would consider a sibling.

  “Ha—” I push his hair away from his neck, dipping my head so I can run my tongue over his flesh. He is warm despite his state of undress. “—don’t be a sore loser. I caught you fair and square.” Just as he has caught me before when we were engaged in a game of cat and mouse.

  “I suppose you did,” he concedes. I press my lips to his shoulder and he shivers. “What do you want as your prize?” Pushing my fingers into his hair, I draw his head back.

  “I already have you,” I mutter, my mouth running along his jaw and inhaling. I need to stop but I cannot bring myself to pull away. He is my husband, I love him. This is . . . natural. It is the normal progression of a relationship, isn’t it?

  “So you do,” he whispers, breathlessly.

  “What more could I want?” I ask.

  “I think we both know.” He turns his head, exposing his neck. I can hear the whoosh of his blood just out of reach. How could he know?

  “Everett . . . ”

  He shakes his head. “I’ll take my pound of flesh later. Just . . . do it.” I hesitate. It isn’t that simple, is it? There are things to be considered. “Just do it,” he repeats.

  The hell with things to be considered.

  Sinking my fangs into his neck, his blood, sour and yet a
s intoxicating as a SweeTart, rushes over my tongue. Fingernails dig into my wrist, pressing deep into my flesh as I pull one long sip from my husband after another.

  “Thanos,” Everett gasps as I rock against him, his body arching back to meet mine. My cock is hard and he wiggles against the erection with glee, excited by the bite, by my taking of him.

  Some part of me knows this isn’t the time or place but I don’t care, not really, as I draw back and yank my shirt over my head. Everett turns and we reach for each other despite the mud, the rain, the lack of preparation.

  He cries out as my body surges into his and we become joined as one.

  31

  There are some moments, no matter how much you prepare, you can never really be ready to go through. Watching my father sign over all of our holdings into my name is one of those moments. It is surreal. At thirty-one, I am the youngest head of our clan . . . ever.

  It is hard to wrap my mind around that knowledge, to fully understand that I am . . . Head of the Moroii, or I will be soon.

  Father holds the pen out to me and I look at the writing utensil for a moment. I still have to sign; tradition still has to be honored. Until the cycle is completed, I am still just . . . Athanasios, eldest son of Richard Right. I hesitate before accepting the pen.

  It is necessary I take my father’s place as head of our family. He is tired, worn down by his years of leadership. Of all the people I know, my father deserves to rest, to enjoy the peace without worrying if there truly is a peace, more than anyone; he has served his time as our guide in the dark.

  I sign my name with a flourish, much the same way I signed my wedding contract, before setting the pen down. Everett is at my side instantly, his fingers laying against my forearm in a gesture of comfort. I smile, laying my fingers over his.

  Applause ripples through those gathered as I look out over them. So many familiar faces peer back. They are family, friends, clan members and now . . . they are all my responsibility. I will need to be sure they are cared for and protected the same way my father has cared for and protected them for years.