by I. T. Lucas
The guy was terrifying even though Roni was well aware that his fear was irrational. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Kian kicking him out for showing up without an appointment?
He lifted his hand to knock when Kian's gruff voice stopped him a moment before his knuckles made contact with the glass.
"Don't just stand there. Come in."
Fuck. He'd forgotten about the immortal's super hearing. Even after all this time in the keep, he was still thinking in human terms. Kian had probably heard him the moment he stepped out of the elevator. He might have even heard Roni breathing through the closed doors.
Or smelled him.
Sylvia had told him that fear emitted a particularly strong scent, spurring on aggression in immortals. As advanced as their species was, at their core they were predators.
The top of the top of the food chain.
The only reason they didn't rule the earth, other than from behind the scenes, was their only biological weakness—extremely low fertility.
Evidently God, or the Fates, or some other higher power had decided to even the odds by limiting the immortals' proliferation.
Roni had no doubt that humanity would have been long gone or enslaved if that wasn't the case.
"How can I help you?" Kian said as Roni pushed the door open.
Knowing how precious the guy's time was, Roni didn't bother with a polite preamble. "I want to go for another round."
"Are you up to twenty-five pushups?"
Roni shook his head. "Eight." He'd been tempted to say ten, but then reconsidered. What if Kian could smell lies? Besides, two more would not have made a difference.
Kian leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "That would do if Bridget approves."
"She would rather I waited a little longer and got a bit stronger, but she says it's safe for me to try again."
"What's the hurry?"
Roni sighed and sat down in the chair facing Kian's desk. "Other than my anxiety over whether I am a Dormant or not?"
In response, Kian lifted a brow.
"I'm meeting Sylvia's mother today. It took me a while to convince her to arrange the meeting. She kept saying that her mother is clingy and wouldn't approve of any boyfriend because she didn't want to lose Sylvia, but I know it's because I'm still human. I want Sylvia to move in with me, but I can't press the issue until I transition."
Kian uncrossed his arms and leaned forward. "I feel for you. When you love a woman, you don't want to be without her for a single moment. Unfortunately, we all have obligations and can't survive on love alone."
Roni chuckled. "Thanks, Adam and Eve. If they didn't get kicked out of the Garden of Eden, we could've still been frolicking like the Bonobo chimps."
"The real story of the Garden of Eden is a little different."
"Duh, I know it's a metaphor."
"Yes, but the meaning got distorted. The story of Adam and Eve is about the gods, or rather a single sympathetic god, giving humans the ability to procreate."
Kian seemed in a good mood today and was more talkative than usual. But that didn't mean he would appreciate questions that would prolong Roni's visit. On the other hand, not asking for more of the story could be interpreted as lack of interest and viewed as an insult.
"I would love to hear the entire story some day when you have the time of course."
Kian frowned and Roni braced for his wrath. Fuck, how he wished he was a better diplomat.
"There are many stories like that. I wish my mother told them to someone who would then write them down. It would make a great read."
"That's a great idea."
Thankfully, the frown hadn't been directed at him. Whatever strength Roni had regained after his illness had left him as soon as the adrenaline rush receded.
As Kian regarded him in silence for far longer than was comfortable, Roni squirmed in his chair.
"As I promised you. I'm going to induce your transition myself."
Thank God. Roni hadn't been sure Kian could be swayed to proceed with the induction before he was able to do the damn twenty-five push-ups. "Thank you. I'm honored."
On the one hand, Roni was relieved that Kian was still offering, but on the other hand, he was scared shitless. Perhaps it was good, though. In his current physical state, Roni couldn't even pretend to fight the guy, but maybe the scent of his fear would do the trick. Maybe it would be enough to spur the immortal's aggression.
Kian waved a dismissive hand. "I hate the uncertainty almost as much as you do. You either turn after my bite or you don't, but at least we will have a definite answer."
"Thank you. When should I expect it?" With how busy Kian was, he might need to wait a long time for the guy to become available.
Maybe he should double his efforts with the fucking pushups. Because if the scent of his fear did nothing for Kian, Roni would have to put up a fight. At least for a few seconds.
Fuck. Even if he managed the pushups, there was no way he could provide Kian with any form of resistance, and if he didn't, Kian's venom glands would not produce venom.
"I'll let you know. I'll try to clear some time later this week. If we skip the ceremony, which there is no reason to repeat, it will only take a few minutes."
Roni groaned. Getting in shape was not going to happen. "I hope I can get you riled up with my big mouth." He lifted his skinny arm and flexed, showing his nonexistent muscles. "These are not going to spur your aggression. And pity is not going to activate your venom glands."
Kian tilted his head. "Did you ever hear of slam poetry?"
"I heard of it. I never listened to it."
"Which makes me like you even more."
Roni still found it hard to believe that the guy liked him at all.
"But I digress. I detest it."
"You want me to recite slam poetry to get you angry?"
Kian nodded. "Find the vilest and most offensive. Something like gangster rap but without the beat. It just might do the trick." By the way his eyes shone from just talking about it, Kian hadn't been kidding about his reaction to the stuff.
"I can do that." Maybe he could even come up with something on his own. After all, Roni was an expert on offensive, all he would have to add was the vile.
Chapter 49: Turner
"I should go." Turner kissed Bridget's warm cheek.
She murmured something that sounded like have a nice day at work, then tugged the blanket up to her chin. The woman liked to sleep, and he usually left early in the morning, with her tucked under the duvet.
According to Bridget, it was uncommon for an immortal to need more than four hours of sleep, but she enjoyed staying in bed longer.
It was becoming a routine, one he had to admit he enjoyed. Turner stayed the night, then rushed to shower and change in the morning before heading for the office. He'd thought about bringing a change of clothes so that he could skip going home and head directly to the office, but that small and seemingly unimportant move could've been interpreted as taking their relationship to the next level, which was a bad idea.
Bridget was perfect, and he could easily imagine himself spending his life with her even though she didn't expect a commitment from him. Smart, passionate, beautiful, she was everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. But even an unfeeling bastard like him knew it was wrong to encourage her emotional attachment.
His prospects weren't great.
He either died during the transition or didn't transition at all.
If he didn't, he had another couple of decades or three at best, provided the chemo worked, and provided no one offed him before his body gave up on him.
There was a very slim chance that he was a Dormant, and an even slimmer chance that he would survive his transformation. The right thing to do was keep Bridget emotionally distant, so she wouldn't be too heartbroken when he either perished during the change, or left because he was human and could not be with her for all the reasons they were both well aware of.<
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For her sake, it would be better to end things sooner rather than later. They still needed to work together on the project, but they were both mature enough to handle their mutual attraction and limit themselves to a professional relationship.
Yeah, right.
Who was he fooling?
He wasn't that noble. He was a selfish bastard.
For the first time in his life, Turner had a woman who meant something to him, and he wasn't willing to give her up. Until Bridget told him to leave, he was going to stay.
Besides, the two weeks she'd demanded were almost up. He might be dead soon, and all that soul searching was pointless.
Unless he was willing to postpone the induction. After all, there was no urgency. Nothing would change if he waited another month or even longer than that.
The time it took him to recover from his injury caused delays, meaning that he still had several unfinished projects. Turner wasn't about to leave his customers to hang out to dry. He took their money with a promise to deliver, and he never went back on his promise. Which meant that he needed more time to tie up loose ends.
"Come back to bed," Bridget said sleepily.
"I wish I could, but it's after six in the morning. I need to get ready for work."
Pulling the blanket with her, Bridget sat up in bed. "You are your own boss. You don't need to clock in."
"Being my own boss only means that my business depends on me, which translates into long work days and sometimes nights. I'm already behind schedule because of the injury."
"How unfortunate."
Finished with lacing his shoes, Turner walked over to the bed. "I'll be back tonight," he said before leaning to kiss her.
She let him peck her on the lips then pushed him back. "Why don't you ever invite me to your place? Is it a filthy bachelor pad?"
He chuckled. "You know me better than that."
"I do, which means that I know your house is squeaky clean with nothing out of place. You just don't want me in your personal space."
Turner rubbed the back of his shaved head.
Bridget wasn't wrong, but she wasn't right either. After all, he'd let Brian spruce up his apartment because he'd anticipated inviting her over.
The thing was, Turner was a loner who never invited company to his home. Brian had been there to do a job, and so had his cleaning service, which he scheduled for when he wasn't there. Naturally, there were cameras all over the place, monitoring what they were doing, the feed going to a hidden laptop.
Nothing over the internet for hackers to break into.
He'd spent his life alone and was used to the solitude. Evidently, old habits and the comfort they provided were stronger than his will. For someone his age, they were incredibly difficult to break. But it was even more difficult to explain himself and admit the weakness.
"It's not that I don't want you there."
Bridget rolled her eyes.
"I know it sounds like a line, but it's not. I never had anyone over. This old leopard finds it difficult to change his spots."
As Bridget leaned forward and took his hand, the blanket slid down to reveal her perfect breasts. "You know what's the best way to get over a phobia?"
"I do." It was to confront it.
"I'm coming over this evening and spending the night." She waggled her brows. "Take a deep breath because I'm going to bring my toothbrush and plant it on your bathroom vanity." She gasped dramatically, covering her lips with three fingers. "I might even bring a hairbrush and a few lotions."
Her comical threats unraveled the stress knot that had formed in his gut, and he smiled. "As long as you don't hang your pantyhose over the shower door, I'm looking forward to it. We can order takeout."
With eyes peeled wide, Bridget put a hand over her heart, covering one plump breast. "You order takeout? What if an assassin impersonates the delivery person?"
Turner leaned and kissed her lips. "You may joke as much as you want, but that is not a laughing matter. I order takeout and then go pick it up myself."
All humor gone, Bridget let her hand drop. "I can't imagine living in constant danger. Do you have that many enemies?"
"No, but it only takes one. And I certainly have a few."
"You should move in here. It's safer."
"With you?"
"Why not? You come here every day straight from work and leave in the morning to go back to work. We are practically living together already."
He shook his head. "You know there is no future for us."
"There might be." Her voice quivered.
"A million to one chance is an optimistic estimate."
"If you forget about your crazy idea to attempt transition, we can be together for years."
He cupped her cheek. "I wouldn't do that to you. You don't want to watch me get old and die."
A tear slid down her cheek. "There are no guarantees in life, and no one has a crystal ball to see the future. I would rather take one day at a time and make the most of it than dwell on what might or might not come to pass."
"You're a smart woman."
She smiled. "I know, that's why you fancy me."
Turner let his eyes drop down to her breasts. "Well, there are a few more things I fancy about you." He leaned and kissed one puckered nipple.
Bridget smoothed her hand over his bald head. "I guess you are staying after all."
He kicked off his shoes. "I'm a weak man."
She chuckled and moved sideways to make room. "Right. You have no weaknesses."
He lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms. "I have one."
Chapter 50: Bridget
"Nice apartment," Bridget said as Turner walked her inside.
He'd waited for her down in the lobby, looking as nervous as a boy on his first date.
This was a big deal for him.
To get there, she had to follow Turner's crazy protocol of evasive maneuvers, like parking her car in the mall, getting inside and leaving through a different exit and then taking an Uber from there.
But this needed to be done even if she never came back. Which she probably wouldn't even if Turner relaxed his cloak and dagger procedures.
The truth was that the place looked like a show apartment that had been furnished by the developer's opinionated interior design team. Later, someone had thrown around a few items to soften the impersonal starkness of the white on white with polished metal decor, but it did little to improve the atmosphere.
In comparison, her clinic seemed cozy.
She wondered whether it had been Turner's idea to add the throw blanket and several colorful pillows, or his secretary's.
Her bet was on Alice.
The sad realization she was coming to was that Victor Turner didn't really live. He worked and he trained and then he rested in preparation for his next workday.
Victor didn't have a home. He had a place to sleep and store his clothes at.
Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he leaned and kissed her cheek. "You're a terrible liar."
She was.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt your feelings."
He led her toward the bar and pulled out a stool for her to sit on. "For you to hurt my feelings, I would have to have them in the first place. I don't." He pulled out a tumbler. "What would you like to drink?"
She waved a hand. "Something sweet and fruity if you have it. Or a beer."
If he truly never entertained anyone in his apartment, there was no reason for him to have cocktail fixings unless he liked sweet and fruity himself.
Somehow, Bridget couldn't picture him with anything other than straight up vodka.
"Stella okay?"
"Perfect."
There was a fridge under the counter, and he pulled out two bottles, handing her one. After a moment he pushed the tumbler toward her.
The guy hadn't been lying about never having anyone over.
"Who does your grocery shopping?" she asked.
"I don't need grocer
ies."
"Only booze and takeout?"
He lifted his bottle in a salute. "You've got it."
Sad.
With a sigh, Bridget poured the beer into the tall glass and took a long gulp. The Stella was too weak to provide even a smidgen of a buzz, but the taste was decent.
"Show me the rest of the place?"
He offered her his hand. "I'm afraid the other rooms are more of the same."
She took it. "White and more white?"
"Yes."
Bridget cast him a sidelong look. "Did you buy the apartment complete with the furniture?"
"How did you know?"
She chuckled. "A wild guess."
It was the most efficient way to go about arranging a place to live, so naturally that was what he'd opted to do. Bridget couldn't imagine Turner going to furniture stores. If he hadn't found a fully furnished apartment, the most he would've done was order from catalogs.
Judging by his choice of wardrobe, he would've done a better job than the developer's interior designer. Surprisingly, Turner was a very sharp dresser.
Unless he had someone do that for him as well.
Alice?
Not likely. The woman had been dressed too plainly.
A personal shopper?
Or maybe a previous lover?
He claimed he hadn't had any, but Bridget found it hard to believe. Turner was attractive physically, a good conversationalist, and he was wealthy. A good catch even with his slight personality disorder. No way he hadn't been pursued.
"This is the master bedroom." Turner motioned to the bed with his hand.
Even the duvet and pillowcases were white. His bedroom was completely devoid of color.
Bridget wrapped her arms around herself. "I would've gone crazy living in here. Everything is so white it's blinding." The room evoked thoughts of solitary confinement in an old style insane asylum.
"Do you want to go back to your place?"
Bridget shook her head. "Don't be silly. I told you I was staying the night and I intend to do so."
"You sure you won't go blind?" Turner teased.