by K. Sterling
“I guess they expect this sort of thing from you, being a famous thief and all,” he said once he could control himself and Roman gave him a flat look.
“Yes. That as well,” he said then stretched his neck as he shivered. “Can you be funny and walk?” He asked then locked everything down and strolled across the roof to the edge. He waited until Quinn looked over. “Just a short drop and the garden wall’s no more than seven feet tall,” he said then waved. “We’ll go over the wall by that pond. Can you walk straight for six feeet?” He asked and Quinn rolled his eyes.
“Sure. While I’m at it, I’ll keep pretending like this isn’t really fucking scary,” he said as he pointed at Roman.
“I’m really tired,” Roman said and discreetly pulled in a deep breath as he saw sparkles. “We have to go.” He winked then hopped off the edge and grabbed the corner of the roof as he landed on the top of the wall. His right foot missed but he danced back a few steps so Quinn wouldn’t notice. He rolled his hand as he bowed then crossed his arms and ankles and waited for Quinn to sit then roll onto his stomach. He lowered onto the wall then easily stood and sidestepped to Roman. “Easy peasy,” Roman said as he patted Quinn on the back and they both fell forward and crashed into the pond.
Chapter 12
“HOLYYY SHIT!!!” Quinn shrieked as he thrashed and flailed until he was almost standing. His body curled as it shook violently and his face and fingers hurt, they were so cold.
“Quinnn…” Roman wheezed as he pulled himself out of the thick, frigid water. It smelled like mown grass but with a hint of rotten egg and coated Quinn’s fingers as he rubbed them together. “Ifffyou evvver breathe aword ofthis to annny one, I willl killyooou,” Roman vowed and Quinn shrugged.
“We’ll see,” he said as he looked forward to seeing Darius again then flopped onto the grass next to Roman. “Let me help you over, professional thief,” he added pointedly and Roman pushed Quinn’s face into the grass as he stood.
“Got yoou out,” he said as he crashed against the wall and Quinn cackled as he interlocked his hands so Roman could plant his foot. He gave him a boost but Roman’s leg missed and he started to slide. “Ooofff!” Roman grunted as a large hand grabbed the back of his coat and he was hauled over. “Thank you!” Roman said from the other side of the wall. Quinn looked up as Mr. Bishop’s hand locked around his upper arm and pulled. Quinn scrambled over the wall easily then was physically placed on his feet.
“Thanks,” Quinn said then frowned as Mr. Bishop hooked his arm around Roman and helped him to the car. “What is it?” He asked as he ran around to the other side but Mr. Bishop was silent as he lowered into the driver’s seat. “What’s wrong?” Quinn asked as he got in and shut the door behind him. Quinn missed a lot that happened after they began their trip up the stairs but something wasn’t right about Roman. He sucked the very soul right out of Quinn’s body. He couldn’t get his brain around the pleasure, he might have visited some of his past lives and seen his ancestors. But Roman was weak and disoriented when they reached the top of the steps. At first, Quinn assumed it was just exhaustion, Roman had performed a devastating blow-job while carrying him up a flight of stairs but he continued to get worse. He was nearly incoherent when he pulled himself out of the pond and wouldn’t have made it to the car on his own without Mr. Bishop. If he hadn’t been with Roman, Quinn would have suspected he’d taken something and it took days of withdrawal for Jayce to look this bad. “I think he needs a doctor,” Quinn said as he buckled quickly then reached for Roman’s face.
“I’mm justtired,” Roman said as the car sped around a corner and Quinn was about to argue then turned and groaned loudly.
“My phone! My keys!” He complained as he looked through the back window. “I’m going to have to break into my own flat or find a locksmith in the middle of the night,” he said as he turned and hugged his arms. His teeth chattered and his toes were numb.
“Mr. Bissshop will make sssure they’re recovered,” Roman said as he rested his head against the headrest.
“We should stop. You need…” Mr. Bishop rumbled deeply but Roman cut him off.
“Carlton House. Take usss home!” Roman snapped at Mr. Bishop and Quinn’s head pulled back. Aside from those few times at Minton’s, Roman never raised his voice, especially at Mr. Bishop.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Bishop muttered.
“This isss not the time forrr a lecturre,” Roman sighed. Quinn stared at Mr. Bishop and wondered what he missed. Quinn saw Roman’s fist tighten as he stifled a groan. Mr. Bishop nodded but his hard, tiny eyes drilled into Roman through the rearview mirror as he sped through lights and wove around the few cars still out on the roads.
“What’s wrong with you?” Quinn asked as he tried to see Roman’s face in the dark. Light would flash through the windows every few seconds and his skin was pale and his eyes squeezed and blinked as he struggled to focus. It was too familiar and Quinn felt nauseous.
“I’m fine,” Roman bit out. “Staywithme…tonight. Your thingsss willbe returned toyou…in the morning,” he said as he shivered hard but Quinn didn’t think it was because he was wet and cold.
“You don’t look fine,” Quinn argued but Roman held his hand up weakly as the car stopped in front of a large regency style mansion. Quinn leaned and looked out the window but didn’t move, they were in St. James, practically across from Buckingham Palace. He waited then blinked at Roman as Mr. Bishop got out and went to his door. “This is it?” He asked in disbelief as Roman pulled himself out of the car. They were on Carlton Street Terrace.
“Thisisit,” Roman said as the door shut behind him, leaving Quinn sitting in the dark like a moron. He pushed his door open and almost fell out in his hurry to catch up with Roman as he struggled up the steps and past marble columns with Mr. Bishop. A door opened and a tall but slight young man in a black suit and tie bowed as Roman and Mr. Bishop passed.
“Pleassse put Mr. Waverly inaguestroom, Grigooore,” Roman said as he pushed himself through a wide foyer, toward a massive staircase. The butler offered a tight nod then shut the door behind Quinn. The house was almost completely dark but the marble floors and steps and the highly polished silver fixtures glowed in the gloom as Roman used the bannister to pull himself up the stairs. His foot missed and Mr. Bishop caught him. Quinn looked at Grigore in alarm but he didn’t appear concerned as he busied himself with locking the doors and arming the security system.
“Is he going to be ok?” Quinn asked.
“This way, sir,” Grigore said quietly as he waved Quinn toward the steps. Quinn’s eyes clung to Roman as he turned down the hall then relaxed as they followed. He saw Mr. Bishop enter a pair of doors at the end of the hall as Grigore opened a door closer to the stairs.
“We keep this room ready, for when Mr. Carlisle’s family visits,” Grigore explained and Quinn’s brows fell as he leaned into the room.
“Does he have a lot of family?” He asked as he scanned what could have been a suite in any of the luxury hotels in London. He could see Buckingham Palace and the Mall through the windows.
“I’ll start the fire then tell the cook to prepare something, in case you or Mr. Carlisle are hungry,” Grigore said as he went to the mantle and pulled a long match from an enamel box. He crouched and struck the match on the stone then easily coaxed a roaring fire to life as Quinn stared longingly. He waited until Grigore rose and stepped back before he dashed across the room and nearly hugged the flames.
“I’ve never been this cold in my life!” Quinn whispered as he pushed his face as close to the heat as he could manage without singeing his eyelashes.
“If you’ll wait here, I’m sure Mr. Bishop will provide you with instructions shortly,” Grigore said then bowed his head and slipped through the door. Quinn’s lips twisted as he stared after him and warmed his backside. Roman’s butler was definitely odd. He skulked and avoided eye contact and Quinn couldn’t decide if he was creepy or something to be pitied. T
he house was a little creepy. Quinn noticed dust covers on most of the furniture. Some of the rooms downstairs didn’t have furniture. He assumed Roman just moved in until Grigore said they kept a room ready.
“And why is it so dark?” He wondered as he crept to the door then tested the switch. The room filled with light as lamps and the large crystal chandelier over the bed lit up and Quinn blinked as his eyes adjusted. “Electricity works. Roman might be a vampire,” he noted to himself. He flicked the switch and stuck his head out the door then jumped back as Mr. Bishop passed by the double doors at the end of the hall. He was carrying a stack of towels as he mumbled something at Roman. Quinn checked to make sure the hall was clear then ran to the other side. He dashed to the doors then pressed his back against the wall and craned his neck when he caught Roman’s reflection in a mirror. He was in the bathroom, on the other side of a massive canopy bed. The bed was shrouded in curtains but Quinn could see Roman through the mirror as he fought out of his wet clothes. He peeled off his shirt as he stumbled and fell back against the wall. He swore as he reached for the sink and Mr. Bishop dropped a stack of towels as he rushed to him. He scolded Roman for something as he lowered him to the floor but Quinn couldn’t translate the low grumble. Mr. Bishop rose on his knees and grabbed a leather pouch from the counter but Quinn wasn’t able to see what he was doing as he crouched next to Roman.
“Jusst giveit to me,” Roman said as he swiped something from Mr. Bishop.
“You keep making yourself sick.”
“You sssound like Tonnni. I’m finne,” Roman stated firmly as he dropped a syringe on the tile. Quinn was faint and felt like he was dropping as he held onto the wall as Roman tried to pull himself up and pitched over onto his side. He grunted as his shoulder hit the edge of the tub and Mr. Bishop grumbled more as he lifted him and set him on the toilet seat.
“You’re going to drown,” he said and Roman snorted.
“I’ll beee fine inafewminutes,” he insisted but he sounded weak and his words were more slurred. “Help me intothebath thennn help Quinnnn. Get himmm sssomething drytowear,” he struggled.
Quinn snapped out of his pain and fear trance and panicked for a moment as he looked around then carefully tiptoed away from Roman’s suite and back across the hall and into the guest room. Mr. Bishop found him warming himself in front of the fireplace. His face was as taut and grim as ever as he set pajamas and a robe on the bed. He lumbered across the room and pushed open a door.
“The bathroom is here. Please leave your clothes by the door to be cleaned,” he said then bowed as he backed out.
“Wait!” Quinn called and he paused. “How’s Roman?” He asked and Mr. Bishop was still for several moments.
“Mr. Carlisle said to make yourself at home. He will join you downstairs later, if he’s feeling up to it,” he said and Quinn frowned as he looked past Mr. Bishop.
“If he’s feeling up to it?”
“He’s quite tired,” Mr. Bishop said. “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?” He asked and Quinn shook his head.
“No. I don’t need anything at the moment.” He watched as Mr. Bishop left and silently shut the door behind him. “Great. He’s a vampire and some sort of drug addict,” he muttered as he reached down and pulled off his shoes. He left them by the fire then stripped off his clothes and folded them as well as he could and placed them by the door. Quinn took his time in the bathroom. The shower was huge and the water was scalding hot and the pressure was glorious. The shower in his flat was cramped and the water never came out as more than a lukewarm trickle. He was tired and didn’t know what to do with what he learned so he set it aside and focused on feeling warm and human again. He felt like Hugh Hefner as he cautiously crept down the stairs in silk pajamas and a robe. Quinn was led to the dining room by Grigore. Only one place was set and a candelabra created a halo of light in the cavernous room. Quinn tried to make small talk as he served him but Grigore remained stiff and evasive. Quinn worried he’d done something to offend the younger man until he noticed the scar on the right side of his face. The large rip stretched from the top of his ear and down along his jaw and shimmered in the candlelight. Quinn ate slowly but Roman never appeared. He spent the meal pondering Grigore and wondered if his story was like Mr. Bishop’s. It seemed likely. Scars that deep and that brutal only happened in legends and myths. Quinn gave up on Roman and pretending he had an appetite and excused himself. He was peeking beneath the dust covers in the study when he heard a violin. He wandered into the hall then up the stairs and his feet carried him to Roman’s room. The song was ethereal and delicate and it made his eyes water and his heart ache, it was so lonely and full of mournful sorrow. Quinn held his breath as he eased the door open and leaned against the frame so he could watch Roman.
He lounged in a large wingback chair by the window with one leg draped over the arm. His chin rested on the violin but his eyes were closed. He was meditating as music swirled and wafted through the night and he was dressed in nothing but moonlight. Quinn couldn’t pull in enough air as his eyes washed over Roman. He was so dramatically beautiful but the sleek, prowling danger was extinguished and he was vulnerable and fragile. His hair was still wet and slicked back but it curled around his ears and jaw and his thick black lashes spread against his cheeks while a lullaby floated from the violin’s strings. He was more muscular than Quinn imagined but he was alarmingly lean. His skin was tightly stretched over every sinew, muscle and bone. He looked like he was sculpted from twisted metal. The song ended and the bow pulled across the strings and dangled above the floor as Roman’s arm hung lazily.
Everything slid together in Quinn’s brain and he gasped as the puzzle pieces connected. The names- Darius and Grigore, the violin music, Roman’s swarthy beauty, “bunică”, his too perfect Britishness… Romanian. Romani.
“What’s your real name?” Quinn asked as he drew closer and Roman pulled in a strained breath that came out as a deep, weary sigh. It was heavy with longing and disappointment and he was exhausted.
“Marius Olinescu,” he murmured faintly and it sounded like a long-forgotten love spell.
“Why Roman Carlisle?” Quinn asked as his hand stretched and his fingers trembled as they traced Roman’s cheek. He was so dark and dangerous and he would never truly care about Quinn but he could feel himself falling again. There were too many signs. Roman was reckless and a master manipulator, just like Jayce. He was charismatic and energetic until he wasn’t. Then, he was evasive and restless and disappeared. Roman might have discovered the secret to holding onto his money and his integrity but Quinn could recognize an addict when he saw one. The last thing he needed in his life was someone he couldn’t depend on who was only going to break his heart but he couldn’t stop his thumb from sliding across Roman’s lips as he craved the taste of his tongue and his breath.
“Because he was all my parents wanted,” Roman explained. “They fell in love as teenagers in Romania and came to London to get away from their families. My father’s family were Romani and my mother’s wasn’t. It was like Romeo And Juliet without the teen suicide. They moved to London and worked like slaves, literally worked themselves to death so I could be the perfect English gentleman. They were nothing more than immigrant peasants who cleaned their homes and picked up their garbage to English gentleman but my father’s only dream was for me to attend the very best schools and have the most beautiful home in London. So, I graduated from Oxford and bought the most expensive home Sotheby’s had to offer,” he said and Quinn groaned as he looked around and recalled all the dust covers and empty rooms. None of it was for Roman.
“Is that why you keep it so dark?” He asked and Roman paused and shook his head.
“No. Grigore’s more comfortable if people can’t see…” he pointed at his ear and his jaw and Quinn’s brows jumped.
“You keep all the lights low for Grigore?” He said and Roman shrugged.
“It doesn’t bother me or Mr. Bishop and
it’s mostly just the three of us around here. Most of the housekeeping is done during the day and I’m either out or sleeping,” he explained.
“You really are a vampire,” Quinn said and Roman rolled his eyes.
“That’s ridiculous,” he said and Quinn shook his head.
“Whatever. How did you find Grigore?”
“His parents were prominent Communists in Romania and most of his family was murdered during the Revolution. He was an infant and given asylum in England along with two of his sisters and an aunt but she couldn’t care for the children and they became orphans. No Romanian family here would take them in so he stayed in the system. He was poor and starving and went to Darius to beg for work but he couldn’t use him. Too much of his crew and most of the family still hate Communists and anyone associated with Ceaușescu. Darius couldn’t take him in, so I did. He’s smart, extremely fastidious and pays exceptional attention to detail. I thought he’d make a good butler and valet and I was right,” he said as he waved the bow grandly and Quinn hated that beneath Roman’s elegant menace was someone secretly kind and generous. It made everything more confusing. Perhaps he wasn’t just helping Quinn because of Darlington or to entertain himself and possibly get laid along the way. Maybe he truly felt sorry for Quinn and legitimately hoped he could reunite him with Jayce.
“What happened to your parents?” He asked and Roman chuckled but it was dry and bitter.
“My father’s foot got caught while he was clearing a section of train track. The driver fell asleep and didn’t even know he hit him until there was an inquiry.”
“Holy…” Quinn covered his mouth to hold back a sob and Roman nodded slightly in agreement.
“It was a terrible tragedy. My mother received a £50,000 pound settlement and she used it to pay off the last of my school expenses, the few loans my parents had and bought herself an old Fiat. It was my family’s first car. My parents both worked two jobs most of their lives but their lives never got better. They were never respected and they were never given an opportunity to advance. They were discriminated against and shunned every day but they didn’t care that they would never be considered British or even welcomed in the country they loved and admired. They knew they could make me British and that was all that mattered. My mother hated when I spoke Romanian and she’d cut my tongue out if I ever spoke Romani, she didn’t want me to have anything to do with my father’s family after they followed him to England.”