by H. M. Wolfe
Nestled to the kid's chest was a little creature, looking like a bat, but slightly bigger. The man wanted to remove it, thinking it might harm the child, but it burrowed into his chest even more. Somehow, Ardan felt that the two were connected mysteriously, so he whispered words of reassurance and, taking the kid into his arms, carefully placed him on the backseat, wrapping a blanket around his battered body.
All the way back to the base, the man was thinking feverishly, the little cogs inside his brains spinning a thousand miles a minute. Judging by the way the poor boy looked, he was most likely a victim of one of Conroy's followers' sadistic experiments. Peyton mentioned something about a son and a concubine, who were as crazy as that bastard.
But that didn't matter at the moment, Ardan thought. Saving the kid's life was his top priority. He thanked the benevolent deities that Alasdair didn't have classes that morning and could tend to the poor soul's wounds. They had to be cleaned up first and maybe even disinfected, the man continued to take mental notes, a warm bath with plant infusions being the best solution.
He wondered if Gaspard was available, because, human or not, the boy in the backseat could use an energy transfer, a substantial one at that. He also needed warm clothes, a soft bed with fluffy blankets and a lot of pillows, a kiss on his forehead, and all the things a child shouldn't be deprived of.
When the car passed the main gates, Ardan thanked once more to the benevolent deities, because Landon and Lothier were insight. With the kid in his arms, he asked the two men to unload the trunk of the car, while he headed to the tiny apartment.
''G'morning, my Spitfire,'' Ardan said in his gentle, soft voice, ''will you please run a bath for this little one here? Don't forget the essences and decocts; he'll need almost all of them.''
''Holy Mother of the Universe!'' Alasdair exclaimed, his eyes wide. ''What kind of sick beast did that?''
''Do we have any milk around? His pet doesn't want to leave him, and it looks starved poor thing. I can't think of something more suitable right now.'' Ardan said in a somehow pained voice.
''Just a minute, I need to finish the bath.'' the redhead's voice came through the opened bathroom door calmly and smooth, not showing anything of his inner torment.
''I'll wash him while you take care of the little bat, or whatever it is.'' Ardan's voice had a hint of amusement.
''Come here, mighty dragon, let's feed you.'' Alasdair appeared from the kitchen, holding a syringe filled with milk in his hand. ''Yes, that's what you are, a dragon.'' he cooed at the creature, making it emit a sort of purr.
Meanwhile, Ardan thoroughly, but gently, washed the boy. He was none other than Lazarus, who'd been taken for dead by Phillip Winters and his minions. They'd tossed him in the giant bin. He would've died for sure, several hours later, because not even a vampire could resist the power of the machine that compressed the garbage. It would've crushed the hybrid, reducing him to virtually nothing.
Slowly, under the action of Ardan's soft, tender touches, Lazarus was coming back to life, his heart filled with an incredible state of bliss, peace, and serenity. The hybrid felt wave after wave of pure energy and love flowing into his body, flooding every cell. He could connect to his dragon, who was the center of Alasdair's attention, the redhead showering it with gentle pettings on his wings and head.
Ardan extracted Lazarus from the tub, lightly rubbing his skin with the huge, fluffy towels, coloring it a lovely shade of pink. He then helped him into a pair of thick, comfy cotton pajamas and a bathrobe. Taking the kid in his arms, the man placed him on the bed, then accompanied Alasdair into the living room, where they turned the couch into a cocoon of comfort, with many pillows and thick blankets.
''I think both of them are settled for now,'' Ardan said, carrying the hybrid into the living-room and wrapping the blankets around him, while Alasdair brought the dragon. It's time for me to go back to my duties. See you this evening.''
''I'll wait for you, as I do every time.'' the redhead purred. ''I may have something special for you.'' he darted the tip of the tongue along his sensual lips.
''Can't wait.'' Ardan smiled seductively, closing the door behind him. Absorbed with his happiness as he was, the man didn't notice Lothier, who was coming from the opposite direction, almost knocking him down. ''Sorry, man'' he smiled apologetically.
''No harm done.'' the chief of security waved his hand. ''Actually, I wanted to talk to you. How's the little one?''
''He's sleeping right now. Alasdair is with him. Hopefully, he will be able to eat some spoonfuls of soup later. He must be starved, poor thing.'' Ardan's turquoise eyes saddened.
''I was thinking...'' Lothier hesitated a moment, then continued in a somewhat shaky and thick voice. ''The boy...he needs constant attention and care during the day, and I have a lot of free time on my hands, unlike you and Alasdair. Besides, you also need privacy, and I thought...''
''Are you offering to take care of him?'' Ardan's eyes were shining with admiration and respect for the man in front of him.
''If you don't mind, of course. And more important, if he doesn't mind.'' Lothier answered in the same hesitant voice.
The other man nodded, and the two of them continued to walk in silence, heading to the hall where meals where served. Almost all the children had finished eating, heading to the building that served as a school. From time to time, Ardan cast a look in his friend's direction, letting out a heavy sigh at the sight of the man's expression.
And then, it hit him: Lothier was the caretaker type, he always must have had a boy or someone under his protection, back in those dark times. The guard was right, Ardan was so absorbed by his own rescue mission, so obsessed with it, that he hadn't noticed anything else. Their little group was the first, but most likely not the last one, Lothier smuggled from under that goddamn bastard's nose.
''Empty nest, huh?'' he offered his friend an understanding smile. ''Man, I've already started to dread the moment Lorcan will be of college age.''
''I don't know what are you talking about.'' Lothier shrugged. ''I'm not from the dads' league.'' he tried to joke.
''No, you aren't a dad. Most likely, a Daddy, without the sexual component. You love to take care of them, make sure they dress according to the weather, feed them...just like you did for Ivar. I must admit I did the same to Alasdair at the beginning."
''I envy you for having someone like him in your corner, my friend. Spitfire is one of the most amazing men I've met in my entire life, second only to...never mind.''
''Have you ever been in love, Lothier?'' Ardan asked in a dreamy voice.
''Yes, once. It happened two or three years after you left. He was fifteen, a gift from one of the beast's associates, a boy sweet, pure, and innocent, but the twisted bastard destroyed him. I offered him escape, but he declined. By then, there was nothing left of the fragile teen. He'd become a cold, calculated, steel-hearted man at just seventeen. His name was Bennett. There will never be another for me, Ardan.''
Back at the small apartment, Lazarus was still weak, but he was getting more energy by the minute. That allowed him to open the communication channels he'd had to shut down during the horrific tortures he'd endured at the lab. The hybrid heard the conversation between the two men, his heart aching a bit for Lothier, but another entity contacted his vampire side, making him remember the powers he had.
There wasn't any danger anymore. No dark forces lurking in the shadows, because, somehow, that period of the year was considered one of the miracles, goodwill, and dreams come true. During the silent conversation, Lazarus identified the other entity as Gaspard, the little, defenseless incubus he'd saved by altering the future.
His heart jumping with joy at the realization, he continued the conversation, reminding the other magical creature that there were some people out there who deserved to be happy but needed a little help with that. The incubus wholeheartedly agreed, and the two of them started to make plans.
That evening, Alasdair went to shower first, and
he climbed onto the bed, waiting for Ardan. He appeared a few minutes later, wrapped in the black, silk robe Spitfire had given him as a present at their first Christmas as a couple. Without a word, the man peeled the robe off of his body, revealing himself in all his grace and splendor.
His skin was still glistening after his shower, making the hard, planed muscles on his torso and abdomen more visible. Alasdair's breath started to hitch at the sight of his man, standing there before him, nothing to hide, a sight to behold. The redhead extended a hand, and, with a small smile, Ardan accepted the invitation.
''I need you tonight, my beautiful, feisty Spitfire.'' he whispered, ''I need your love. I want to be with you. I want to give myself to you.''
''Shhh...'' Alasdair gently put a finger on his boyfriend's lips. ''everything will be just like you want, my beloved, relax and enjoy.'' he gently pushed Ardan onto his back, taking the bottle of lube from its place on the nightstand.
''Mmmhhhmm, it feels so good.'' the older man closed his eyes, arching from the bed, as the redhead worked him open. ''I want you there. Inside me,'' he begged, sucking the redhead's fingers deeper inside him. ''Oh, gods of all the heavens!'' Ardan cried in ecstasy, as Spitfire hit that secret spot inside him.
''Your wish is my command, beautiful,'' Alasdair whispered, aligning himself at his man's entrance. ''Bear with me just a little more,'' he said, pushing inside bit by bit.
For a while, their lovemaking was sweet and tender. Each one of the redhead's thrusts was accompanied by butterfly kisses peppered on the older man's shoulders, neck, and chest. Soon, Ardan was a moaning mess, each touch of Spitfire's lips on his already hot skin setting him on fire, even more, driving him onto the edge of insanity.
He couldn't take it anymore, whimpering in need, he lifted his hips, meeting each of Alasdair's thrusts, and making him pick up the pace. Frantically pounding inside his lover, the redhead felt the rush getting more and more intense, a tingle building until it took over him completely. Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, Spitfire spilled himself inside Ardan, who shot his hot, creamy load between them seconds later.
When they'd gathered enough energy to move, the two men showered again together, a continuation of their love ritual. Half an hour later, with his arms wrapped around a sleeping Alasdair, listening to the redhead's even breathing and feeling his steady heartbeat, Ardan smiled. He loved and was loved back; the most magnificent present life had ever given him.
Roderick Stanford was staring at the rectangular piece of paper in his hand. He continued reading it over and over again, in a total state of disbelief. It couldn't be possible, he said to himself, taking an even closer look at the letters composing the name. It was no mistake; the two words were Alastair Stark.
The man remembered his mother, dressed in black from head to toe, attending the memorial mass she paid for every year. There were two of them, in fact: one was held in a protestant church, and the other, in an Orthodox one. Her best friend, Zoe, Lady Cecilia, explained to her only son, belonged to that faith, and the little Alastair was baptized and raised in his father's religion.
Those people, the woman, and the child were dead before he was born, Roderick thought, shaking his head again, he saw his mother kneeling in the church, praying for their souls to rest in peace, and now this. The rectangular piece of paper saying that he and the entire family were invited by Alastair Stark, his husband Mallory, and Zoe Stark, to join them at the family's mansion in Connecticut, to spend the Christmas holidays together.
A sound coming from the entry hall of his imposing residence turned Roderick's attention in that direction. It had to be Ramsay, who'd mentioned something about visiting him. Instead, his youngest, Raven, stepped into the spacious, well-lit, tastefully decorated living-room. He stared at his father for a few seconds, then decided to talk, because, no matter how much the man despised, loathed, and hated him, Raven couldn't feel the same. The young man opened his mouth, bracing himself for what was about to come
''H
ello, dad! I'm sorry to disturb you with my presence; I came to check on Rusty. Unfortunately, today you'll have to bear with me a little longer than usual. Ramsay insisted on meeting me here. It was not my choice.'' Raven's voice sounded defeated, and so was his posture.
''I've told you many times, son. This house is just as much yours as it is mine. There was no reason for you to leave in the first place.'' Roderick cursed his inability to express what he really felt in the right way, using the right words.
''Living on the streets it's not a bad thing, either.'' the younger man softly sighed, ''it gives me the ability to help people in difficulty. Don't worry; I haven't spent a single cent of the money mom left me. It's all there, you can check. Oh, and I don't sell myself, either, because...''
''Raven, stop it! For once, let me explain why I reacted the way I did that fateful day.'' Roderick spoke on a pleading tone, but the look in his son's eyes cut him short.
''You have your reasons, and I'm sure they were rock-solid.'' the young man said flatly
''Since it's confession time, you don't have to worry anymore about my inheritance from mom, I'm meeting with Ramsay to help me with my will. Everything I own will go to his three children.''
''What are you talking about?'' Roderick was in shock, unable to process the words his son had just said. ''Are you terminally ill? Why didn't you...''
''No, there's nothing wrong with me...yet. But you see, dad, life is just a series of unpredictable events, and it's always good to be prepared. That's a lesson I've learned the hard way.''
Roderick felt the note of finality in his youngest child's voice, but he wanted desperately to continue the conversation. Maybe a change of subject will do, the man thought. ''I think Russel is sleeping now, he must be exhausted after last night, the pain was unbearable.''
''I know, but I can't trust regular doctors. They are nothing than a bunch of skeptical assholes. I've heard about a prestigious medical research center in New York. I want to take Rusty there. I'm here to talk to him about it.''
The arrival of Ramsay brought the awkward father-son conversation to an end, as both of them left their seats to greet him. Roderick hugged his firstborn tightly, in a gesture meant to give the younger man strength and to assure him that he could always count on his support and affection.
By the way, Ramsay returned the hug, burrowing himself in his father's chest. The man suspected something terribly wrong had happened to his oldest child, but he knew better than to ask him, especially in his brother's presence. Somehow, in spite of the fourteen years separating them, the two were connected at a much deeper level than the bond they shared with Mattie.
Raven was only two years older than Duncan, his brother's firstborn, and Ramsay loved him more like a son. He listened to him, encouraging and praising him, always understanding, always supportive. Sometimes, the thought that his oldest son knew his brother's heart so well, that Raven chose him as the keeper of his secrets pained Roderick, but he tried to push it in the back of his mind.
The older man patiently waited for his two sons to finish the legal business that brought them together. Then, taking advantage of the youngest's temporary absence, he gestured to the living-room's direction. Ramsay got the message and followed his father, waiting for him to start talking.
''Sit down, son. For goodness sake, it's enough that Raven acts like he is a stranger in this house, and your sister is always too busy to pay a visit, although I understand her.'' Roderick said. ''Now, tell me what's on your mind?''
''They fired me. I'm no longer needed at the firm, according to Nate Walker. I'll get compensation, of course, but it hurts like hell. I'm thirty-six, and I spent almost half of my life there, contributing to the firm's development.''
''I'd sue them if I were you.'' Roderick's voice was harsh, while his chest constricted in pain at the sight of Ramsay's lost expression. ''They have no right to do something like that, to you, of all people.''
''Anyway, that's
the least important problem, at the moment,'' the younger man waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. ''Dad, I feel I'm losing Tarann with each day that passes. The child who was made of sunshine and smiles...he's no longer there, and I don't know what to do. Miranda keeps complaining about him, but he's rarely around, and...''
''Listen, I know that it may sound strange, giving my tense relationship with your brother, but did you try to talk to Tarann? Ask him what's wrong?''
''Of course, I did, but every time I try to make him talk, he gives me one of his heart-melting smiles and assures me everything is alright.''
''His paintings!'' Roderick exclaimed, with a triumphant expression. ''Go look at them closely. They are a reflection of your son's soul and state of mind.''
''Now, that you mention it, I realize that something's strange there.'' Ramsay frowned. ''Tarann hasn't shown me one of his works in ages. Thanks, dad, talking to you has helped me a lot.'' he left his seat, hugging Roderick. ''Please go easy on that brother of mine. He's been under great pressure lately.''