::The description fits,:: Grigorii replied. ::I have never met a werewolf who wouldn’t lie if it behooved him, with the exception of your Sandalio.::
::I’m certain he would, too, if necessary,:: Baptiste put in. ::In this case, however, he is on our side. I have no doubts about it.::
Below him, Andre saw Estebe take two steps toward Sand and Thorin, his Beta right behind him. “With me, my comrades,” Estebe shouted, and three more Betas appeared beside him in their werewolf forms. Then, Estebe shifted, moving fluidly toward Thorin with two Betas flanking him. The remaining werewolves stalked Sand.
Instantly, Sand was across the stream. At the same moment, Thorin sidestepped the werewolves as they circled for the first strike, rising into the air. His lips moved, and what had been a light breeze became a whirlwind which knocked the two Betas off their feet. It might have done the same for Estebe, but he wasn’t there. With a powerful leap, Estebe’s jaws locked on Thorin’s calf and they landed on the bank of the pond.
A stream of flames appeared, seemingly from nowhere, burning one of the fallen Betas beyond recognition. Andre knew either Grigorii or Baptiste was responsible. More flames destroyed the second one.
Andre turned swiftly when he heard a piercing cry of pain, to see Sand, in his werewolf form, trying to fend off his two attackers. Arming his crossbow, Andre fired. The bolt pierced one adversary’s flank. Another, seconds later, took him out, leaving Sand, bleeding badly, alone with the other one. Before Andre could load his crossbow again, the attacking werewolf was hanging suspended high in the air, flailing at an invisible foe. Then, a vicious wound appeared, severing his head from his body.
Baptiste’s voice echoed in Andre’s mind. ::I’ve always found that’s the easiest way to dispatch an enemy, although I generally do it on the ground. We might want to see to Thorin, however. Estebe seems to be getting the best of him.::
The huge werewolf stood over Thorin, his forepaws planted on the vampire’s chest. The wound in Thorin’s calf was bleeding badly and Andre knew he had to be weakening. Because Andre was too far away to take a safe shot, he flew to them, casting aside his crossbow. Thorin was as pale as death, and Andre saw a second wound on his shoulder, blood seeping out, turning the ground under him dark red.
Praying he was in time, Andre called upon his killing gift to wound Estebe. A long gash appeared on the werewolf’s foreleg, not deep, but enough to cause him to lift it with a growl of pain. Another opened his shoulder down to the bone and Andre knew Baptiste had arrived.
Estebe howled, rearing back. A narrow stream of flame burned into his throat and his howl was cut short. Seconds later he was dead, his heavy body collapsed on top of Thorin’s, turning human as it did.
The three vampires became visible, hauling Estebe off Thorin.
“He’s going to die,” Andre whispered in distress.
“Does he have emergency blood at the club?” Baptiste asked as he picked up Thorin.
“Yes, in a hidden refrigerator behind the bookcase in his office,” Andre replied, barely getting the words out before Baptiste went invisible.
“You might want to check on your young werewolf,” Grigorii said. “He’s not looking all that well. I’ll dispose of this.” He gestured toward Estebe’s body.
Andre didn’t bother to reply before dashing to Sand’s side. Kneeling, he assessed what he could see of the damages, hissing in a breath of dismay.
::It’s not as bad as it looks,:: Sand said, trying to stand.
“Like hell it’s not! Don’t move, damn it!” There were deep bites and gashes in Sand’s legs and hindquarters, and a tear in his ear that severed it almost in half. “And don’t shift,” Andre ordered.
::Wasn’t planning on it, even if I had the energy. I’m not a fool.::
“Debatable,” Andre muttered. He pulled off his shirt, tearing it into strips that he used to bind the worst of Sand’s wounds. When he finished, as best he could, he scooped Sand into his arms and took to the air, invisible to anyone who might have looked skyward.
Minutes later they were in Andre’s bedroom. Gently, he put Sand down on his bed. “If my blood wasn’t poison to you,” he murmured.
Sand’s only response was to stretch out on his stomach in an apparent attempt to keep his injured haunches off the bed, his muzzle tucked between his forepaws, his tail curled over one leg as he fell into a deep sleep.
Andre sat beside him for a long moment, stroking his head. Then, because he needed to find out if Thorin would survive, and he knew it would be a long while until Sand awoke, he took off for the club.
He arrived in Thorin’s office to find his Sire stretched out on the sofa, drinking from a bag of blood Baptiste was holding, with two empty bags on the floor at Baptiste’s feet. Grigorii was standing, his hands on the back of a chair, watching.
“You look better than when I last saw you,” Andre said, touching Thorin’s shoulder. The huge wound that had been there was smaller now, no longer bleeding. It was the same with the one on his calf, the ragged edges beginning to knit together.
Thorin emptied the bag, retracted his fangs, and replied sourly, “I detest bagged blood. If I were stronger…”
“But you’re not,” Baptiste pointed out. “You’re better, but you’re not to go out until tomorrow night.”
“How is your werewolf?” Grigorii asked.
“Alive, and healing, the same as Thorin,” Andre replied. “If it hadn’t been for you and Baptiste, things would have turned out much differently.”
Grigorii smiled. “Estebe underestimated us, meaning vampires. I’m certain the most he expected was that Thorin would show up with a couple of us your age, Andre, as back-up. After all, it was only supposed to be a meeting to work out a compromise, correct?”
Thorin chuckled. “That’s what I implied, and he intimated the same. We both knew the other one was lying. Still, Andre’s correct. We wouldn’t have prevailed in the end if it hadn’t been for the two of you. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“I’ll remember that when I have to deal with a rogue who’s intending to wreak havoc in my city,” Baptiste replied. “Which reminds me, I should get back there before my subjects think I’ve abdicated my throne.”
“You have a throne?” Grigorii asked, grinning. “I prefer as comfortable chair in front of a fireplace, with wine and books on the side table.”
“I was speaking metaphorically,” Baptiste grumbled. “Until next time, Thorin.” He saluted, and then vanished.
“I should be going as well,” Grigorii said. “Tell Sand goodbye for me, if you would, Andre. He’s a nice young man—for a werewolf. Would that there were more like him.”
“There probably are,” Andre replied. “It’s the ones like Estebe and Raúl that make it hard to find out, because they prefer to keep the enmity between werewolves and vampires alive to reinforce their power over their pack members.”
“I’m certain they think the same about vampires like Thorin and me,” Grigorii said. “Perhaps, someday, things will change. Until then…” He shrugged. “Life goes on as usual. Thorin, my friend, do keep in touch.”
“I shall, Grigorii.”
“Now, I bid you good evening.” Grigorii’s words came from empty air as he went invisible.
“Now that they’re gone, how are you feeling?” Andre asked Thorin. “Be honest.”
“Fairly well, all things considered. A good day’s sleep and I’ll be fine.”
“Then go home,” Andre replied. “I intend to, now that I know you survived.”
“How you came through unscathed, at your age…”
Andre spread his hands. “Grigorii was right. Estebe did what no good leader should. He underestimated his enemy.”
“And it cost him dearly.” Thorin got to his feet. “Get out of here. You have a pretty little werewolf who needs you by his side when he wakes up.”
“I’d hardly call him ‘pretty’,” Andre retorted, shaking his head as they walked out of the office into
the empty club. “I presume you’ll be reopening the club this evening.”
“Indeed I shall. I’ll see you then.”
“That you will.”
Chapter 8
Sand awoke Wednesday afternoon to find he was in Andre’s bed, still as his werewolf. He shifted, and carefully eased out of the bed, even though he knew he wouldn’t awaken Andre because it was at least an hour until dusk. Going into the bathroom, he closed the door and took care of the most pressing business before sitting on the edge of the tub to remove the torn pieces of shirt that Andre had used to bandage his wounds—which had already healed. What he was, plus the hours he’d slept, had seen to that. He showered—considering, as he did what had occurred over the past few days—got out and dried off. Then he rested his hands on the edge of the sink to survey himself in the mirror.
“It’s over,” he told his reflection. “The fear, the danger, the hiding—everything since Raúl’s death, it’s over, all of it. There’s no reason to stick around. What Andre and I had? It was only sex, nothing more. A way to stay sane, to release our tension. Physical attraction pure and simple.” He smiled briefly, remembering the night they met. “Lust at first sight. I wanted to fuck him, big time, but that’s all there was to it. He’ll see that, the same as I have. Maybe not tonight, or tomorrow night, but soon. Sure, we said a lot of stuff, made some promises, and I suppose we meant them when we did, but we were only fooling ourselves. If he was different, if I were, perhaps we could make things work. But we’re not.”
He didn’t like what he was telling himself, but he had to face the truth. All my dreams were wishful thinking. I wanted…needed to feel as if someone cared about me—Sandalio. Something that hasn’t happened since I was a cub, before father…He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, using the physical pain to counter the overwhelming emotional pain of his father’s rejection.
When he was calmer, he eased the bathroom door open and stood for a few moments, looking at the man who had been his lover. “I’ll miss you,” he said softly. “More than I should, I will.” Then he teleported home.
* * * *
“Where’s Sand?” Thorin asked soon after Andre arrived at the club and found him at his private table.
Andre leaned back against the balcony railing, replying with a shrug, “Probably at home, or back to working his regular shift for the security company, now that you don’t need him here.”
“You don’t know?”
“No. He was gone when I woke up. No note, no nothing. If it weren’t for the blood-stained bandages in the wastebasket, I wouldn’t have known he been there.” Andre turned to gaze down at the busy room below him, needing to put off any more questions about Sand. “Looks like things are back to normal, again. What do you need me to do?”
“For the moment, nothing more than the usual.” Thorin eyed him in speculation. “You don’t seem terribly upset.”
“If you mean about Sand, why would I be?” Andre turned back to him. “He’s an adult. Everything worked out the way we planned. He’s undoubtedly moved on. Hell, for all I know he returned to his pack to see if they’ll accept him, now that the haters aren’t running it.”
“You’re all right with that?”
“Thorin, stop,” Andre said, drawing a finger across his throat. “We had a brief fling. It wouldn’t have worked, no matter what we said to each other at the time.”
“All of two days ago.”
“Damn it, will you drop it!”
“No. Sit.” Thorin pointed to the empty chair.
Reluctantly, Andre did, because he knew he had no real option when Thorin played the concerned Sire, not the boss.
“I never thought I’d see you back away from a problem,” Thorin said.
“As I see it, the only problem is that I’m a vampire and he’s a werewolf. Compatible in bed? Yes. And possibly at other times if we’d need to work together to deal with someone like Estebe, but otherwise…” He shook his head.
“Do you really believe that, because I don’t? I’ve watched the two of you. You care for each other beyond the sex. Don’t tell me differently.”
Andre rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. “Even if we do, it wouldn’t work.” He smiled wryly. “I’m a night owl. He’s a day person except on the rare occasion when his company gives him a nighttime assignment. Even then, we wouldn’t be able to spend time together, would we?”
“Unlike you, I’m sure he doesn’t sleep twelve hours. The two of you could figure out a schedule that would work for both of you.”
Andre cocked his head in question. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, Thorin?”
“Because it’s time you had one and I believe Sand fits the bill.”
Andre snorted. “Maybe you do. Obviously, he doesn’t or he wouldn’t have taken off without a word.”
“There’s one way to find out.”
“I am not chasing after him like a lovelorn teenager.”
Thorin laughed. “That would be difficult since it’s been well over two-hundred years since you’ve been one.”
“You know what I meant, damn it!”
“Of course,” Thorin replied. He put his hand over Andre’s, looking squarely at him. “If you care for him, and I know you do, get off your ass and find him. Talk about your feelings, calmly, sensibly. See if he feels the same way. Otherwise, you’ll spend the rest of your very long life regretting it.”
Pulling out of his grip, Andre stood, scowling at his Sire. “Is that an order?”
“No, Andre,” Thorin replied softly. “It’s a suggestion, nothing more. Think about it and you’ll know I’m right.”
Turning on his heel, Andre walked away, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll…consider it.”
* * * *
As soon as he got home, Sand changed into a fresh pair of jeans and fixed something to eat. Then, he called his boss to tell him that he was going to take a leave of absence.
“Are you shitting me? Just like that, with no warning,” the man replied angrily.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, but something’s come up I need to deal with, with my family. I suspect the owner of the Crimson Cathedral has already gotten in touch with you to tell you he doesn’t need my services there anymore.”
“He hasn’t, but I’ll take your word for it, although I will check with him.”
“Thanks for trusting me,” Sand replied sourly.
“You drop this on me, out of the blue. What do you expect?” There was a long pause before Sand’s boss asked, “How long will you be gone?”
Forever. Sand didn’t say that aloud, merely telling him he’d be in touch as soon as he knew when he’d return. After they hung up, Sand went into his bedroom and began packing.
There was more to his leaving than his needing to get away from Andre and what had happened between them. He had been in the city for the past ten years. Soon, people would begin to notice that he wasn’t aging.
“Now’s as good a time as any to find a new home, somewhere far from here,” he said under his breath. “When I do, I can collect the rest of my stuff, what I want to keep, that is.”
He’d accumulated a lot of things since he’d bought the house, but most of them were only that—things. Furniture, kitchenware, the usual detritus a homeowner amasses. Only his clothes and books meant anything to him—and his jeep. What a lonely life I live. No pictures, no mementos from friends. Nothing that says I’m more than a transient moving from place to place before anyone begins asking questions I can’t answer.
For a moment he considered returning to the Wintermane pack, to see if they’d accept him now that Raúl and Estebe were dead. Probably not. Those two weren’t the only ones who hated me for what I am. My father made certain of that.
It took two suitcases and his backpack to hold his clothes and personal items, including his laptop. He found two boxes in the basement which he filled with as many books as he could. When he finished, he put everything into the jeep, the b
ooks in the cargo hold, and the suitcases in the backseat.
Then he walked through the house, telling himself he wanted to be certain he hadn’t forgotten anything. In truth, he knew it was his memories of the time Andre had been there that propelled him. He envisioned that night and the following one, and how he’d tried to convince himself it was sex, and nothing more.
Leaning against the doorjamb of his bedroom, he stared at the empty bed. It was only sex, and a few vacant promises that it could become something else. He didn’t mean them any more than I did.
That he was lying to himself was a given and he knew it. But he would do nothing about it. That was also a given. He closed the door on his dreams, shut off all the lights on his way to the back door, and then, after arming the security, he went out to the jeep. A few moments later he was on the street, heading to the highway out of the city.
* * * *
An hour after his conversation with Thorin, Andre bit the bullet and went to Sand’s house. Misting to enter, in case the alarm system was activated, he headed directly to the bedroom before becoming whole again, praying Sand was there. The closet door was open, revealing empty bars where Sand’s clothes had hung. He checked the dresser drawers, which were also empty, as were the shelves in the bathroom.
“I guess that answers one question,” he said morosely while he walked through the rest of the house, noting the nearly empty bookcase in the living room. “He hightailed it out of here as fast as he could.”
Where are you, now, Sand? Going back to the pack? Heading God only knows where to start a new life? Do I give a damn? He sighed. I do. I shouldn’t, but I do. How will I find you when it’s pretty obvious you don’t want me to?
He knew there was one possible way, with Thorin’s help, so he left the way he’d entered, and returned to the club.
“He’s driving, I presume,” Thorin said when Andre told him Sand had packed up his clothes and books, leaving everything else behind. “I doubt he could, or would, teleport anywhere with all that.”
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