Judge Dempsey seemed to materialize before him, his brow furrowed, jaw clenched, a storm brewing in his eyes. “Evening, Mr. McCallum.”
“What are you doing in my house?” he demanded.
“Taking care of a little business, so to speak. Hettie, please, let’s get this over with. I wish to return to my wife.”
Seamus watched as the Judge’s head housekeeper, the one Bridgette was always whispering about, crossed the room with a bowl in her hands. She was a big woman, thick of bone, her skin cocoa and her eyes dark. Hettie looked upon him with disgust. She tore off his shirt, a button or two popping off. When she spoke her voice was low, the words in an unfamiliar language.
“What is this?”
The Judge sneered. “I cannot have a weirdo pervert like you making passes at my daughter.”
“I have never—”
“You were overheard this evening referring to her as your darling. She’s too good for you, McCallum. A man who likes to play bedroom games with other men,” Judge Dempsey spoke with disgust. Seamus’s eyebrows shot up, he’d always been discreet, never seeing anyone in his castle, always traveling a distance when the desire to be with another grew too hard to handle. And to be accused of doing things with Bridgette? “She’s a good girl, my little Bridgette. I can’t have someone like you sullying her reputation.”
Hettie dipped two fingers into the bowl and began to draw a symbol on his bare chest. It burned. Seamus hissed. “Nothing—”
A jolt of pain shot through his body cutting off the rest of his sentence. It seized hold of him and Seamus bit down on his bottom lip, the coppery tang of blood seeping into his mouth. The edges of his vision blurred and his hearing waned. His stomach rolled as it threatened to toss its contents. Seamus went slack, the man holding him finally letting go. Lifeless he crumbled to the floor, his gaze fixated on the dancing flames; they were unbearably bright.
Judge Dempsey laughed.
Seamus’s brain screamed for oxygen, pleaded with him to take a breath.
But he couldn’t.
And hadn’t take a single one since that fateful night. Judge Dempsey’s laugh echoed through his mind, him and his family long gone, and it brought along the last words Hettie spoke, the only ones she chose to share in English.
“Haunt these halls, unable to leave. Feared by the living, ignored by the dead. Your heart stilled for the love you tried to steal. Only when you find what is true will you be set free.”
Seamus shuddered, hugging Atlas tighter. Cursed, doomed, punished for a deed he hadn’t even committed, and so he lingered on in his tomb of stone walls, searching and hoping, wondering what Hettie meant. He touched a hand to his chest, tears welling in his eyes, one spilling free. He only wanted to comfort his friend, to ease her suffering, and catapulted himself into his own well of darkness.
“Atlas,” he moaned, taking the dog’s head in his hands, gazing into the soulful brown eyes of a soul that did not care if he was living or dead. “Oh, my dear sweet poochie head, I have to get Tibbit to come back. I have to speak with him. There are so many things I want to say, to…to…” He let out a frustrated growl, falling back against the wall. “Damn this night!”
Weak sunlight tried to break through the perpetual gloom of the castle. Bird chatter was faint, but harkened to the arrival of a new day. Seamus moved like a specter toward the window, tugging the curtain loose from its tie. The fabric fell into place effectively blocking out the cheery signs of life. The black magic whammy allowed him the ability to venture outside in the sun, it was his own personal disdain that kept him in until the stars came out. What right did he have to bask in the warmth of a summer day?
Over the decades, piece by piece, he moved the furnishings of his past life into the basement, concealing them, hoping they would take the memories with. Why couldn’t memories work that way? He left a few things out including his bed; which he fell into now, burrowing under the blanket. He patted the bed and Atlas quickly joined him. Seamus cuddled close, a hand on Atlas’s chest. Dare he admit he was envious of the heart beating there?
“Tomorrow night, Atlas,” he whispered, closing his eyes. “Tomorrow night we’ll call Tibbit and have him come back.”
An unwanted troubling thought bounced across his mind.
“Please let him still be here. Please.”
Chapter 5
The morning sun played over the tan exterior of the vet clinic, the day starting off without Tibbit. He called in sick, unable to deal with the prospect of seeing and interacting with other people. He barely bothered to get out of bed, venturing to the bathroom and to get snacks, sinking back into the nest of pillows and blankets. He drifted in and out of sleep, awakened two or three times by the joyful ringing of his cell phone.
He knew the tone.
He’d picked it out specifically for the caller.
So he avoided answering.
At one point he fell into a fitful sleep, dreaming of Seamus, and though he failed to recall the specifics Tibbit awoke with tears in his eyes. The ache in his chest had somehow grown worse, a feat he would have considered impossible. The indicator light blinked on his phone. The number of missed calls was in the double digits. He knew Seamus preferred to sleep away his days and he found it touching. There was also a dose of guilt.
The shadows grew long as the hours passed. Tibbit realized at one point that he’d been laying on his side staring at the curtain covered window. Even now he longed to be up there sharing a good laugh with Seamus or just sitting before the fire flipping through the pages of a leather-bound book from Seamus’s massive library. Even in their silences they were comfortable together. Despite his condition Seamus always made him feel so alive, like there was nothing he couldn’t do, like his life had an entirely different purpose. Seamus gave him a reason for getting up in the morning. And when he was at work tending to his patients he did it with newfound strength because of the sense of wonder Seamus’s mere existence filled him with, anything in life was possible.
Of course, there was also the twinge of heartache every time he was out and about in the town and saw couples holding hands or leaning over a table canoodling, cuddling up together on a park bench. All the things two people completely smitten with each did. He wanted moments like that, unable to recall how long it had been since his last relationship. He wasn’t just seeking nights of fun in bed and someone to chase away the loneliness cast by a vast world. No, he wanted the right person, the one who he could laugh with over stupid things. The one who got him inside and out, knew how to ease his sorrows and brighten his gloomiest days. He wanted to feel an electric shock every time they touched, have his heart start racing when they drew close.
He wanted someone who saw the very darkness of his soul and still loved him anyway.
Seamus, the wonderful Seamus McCallum, fit the bill perfectly.
At some point Tibbit had begun to cry, tears soaking into his pillow. Maybe if he was lucky he would cry himself into a few more hours of blissful ignorance. His cell phone started its shrill pleading to be answered yet again. He sucked in his bottom lip, closing his eyes and wishing for it to stop. A heartbeat later it did, the ensuing silence somehow more deafening.
When it chirped to signal a voicemail Tibbit jumped. His will was weak and he reached for the device, punching in the code. For a split second he wondered if he really wanted to hear Seamus’s voice and the answer came just as quickly; he could listen to Seamus every day.
“Tibbit, please, you have to come to the castle. Something’s wrong with Atlas. I don’t…” his voice broke. “Maybe he got into something on the grounds that he shouldn’t have, he’s sick. Please,” he pleaded, tears evident in his tone. “Please, I can’t…I can’t lose him.”
Tibbit closed his eyes, fretting, torn between staying in the comfort of his bed or heading up to check on Atlas. He cherished the dog just as much as he did Seamus, but did he really want to make the trip up there one more time? Would it ever be just one more tim
e, wouldn’t he always find some reason to travel the narrow road up the hill, the one that wove between the trees offering glimpses of the castle, little teasers until the estate came into view.
Maybe, somehow, would it be possible for him to cross the threshold and act like nothing happened the night before?
There was only one way to find out, he decided, swinging his feet over the side of the bed.
“You’re going to regret this,” he mumbled. “Mark my words. It’s only going to lead to more heartbreak.”
He didn’t even bother to change, shoving his feet into his shoes, snatching up his car keys and shuffling out to his car. Behind the wheel he sat there for a few minutes.
“There’s still time to turn back,” he muttered. “Take the keys out of the ignition, go back into the house, lock the door and forget the place even exists.”
Instead he started the car and backed out of his driveway. He tried to enjoy the songs on the radio, but his mind was somewhere very far away, his thoughts a scattered mess. He wanted to think of everything and anything with the exception of Seamus. And he managed to make it work until he pulled up outside Seamus’s, flashing back to that first night, the same window baring the same flickering glow. It was always the same, he realized, always with the fire in the grand living room.
He treasured the countless nights they spent in its warmth.
“You’re here for Atlas,” he whispered, making his way to the front door. “Just take care of Atlas and leave. No biggie.”
Seamus yanked the door open before Tibbit could knock. “Oh, thank goodness. I was worried you would…” he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air unspoken. A moment of potentially awkward silence passed. Seamus reached out, grabbed hold of Tibbit’s hand, and dragged him into the foyer. The heavy oaken door closed with a thud. Atlas came padding in, looking perfectly fine. “Yeah, about that, I kind of lied,” Seamus explained with a shrug of his shoulders. “You’ve ignored every single one of my phone calls and we need to talk.”
“Seamus.”
Seamus held up his hand. “You’ve had your say, it’s my turn.”
Chapter 6
He felt like a shmuck for lying, especially since it involved Atlas and he knew how much Tibbit cared for the dog. However, after quite a bit of tossing and turning—rather unusual since he tended to sleep like, well, the dead—he failed to find any other way that might bring Tibbit running. It stung, the glare that Tibbit threw in his direction. At least he picked up on the trace of hope or some similar emotion lingering in his eyes. As long as that spark remained Seamus figured he stood a chance.
The call he made was more about Tibbit than Atlas anyway.
“I’d like to leave,” requested Tibbit, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“I think you owe me the right to speak my mind, Tibbit,” he tried to keep his voice even. “After last night…”
Tibbit crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine, go ahead, say it.”
Seamus opened his mouth and promptly forgot what he wanted to say. Since making the phone call he’d passed back and forth in the foyer eagerly awaiting Tibbit’s arrival. During that time he cooked up what he considered to be the perfect speech, heartfelt, hitting all the prominent points. Now he wondered if any of it mattered. What could he say to make things okay between them? With one sentence their entire friendship had taken a change, it crossed a line and going back was impossible.
“Tibbit, I…”
He cleared his throat. “I think we’re done here.”
“No.” There was such conviction in that one word that it echoed off the stone walls and stopped Tibbit in his tracks. Even Atlas looked at Seamus with his head slightly tilted. Words failed him so he figured he would go with the next best option. Actions, actions always spoke louder. With a surprising amount of courage he closed the distance between them, curling his fingers into the fabric of Tibbit’s shirt.
A little squeak of surprise popped out of Tibbit. Then Seamus’s lips met his, the kiss tender and light, perhaps even a bit apprehensive as he waited for Tibbit to push him away. A second ticked by, two, and slowly Tibbit melted into him, their kiss deepening as they both let go and just let it play out.
Seamus flashed back to the kisses he’d shared in his mortal time. None of them compared. So he allowed Tibbit’s warmth to draw him back to the present, wanting his senses to be overrun by this man who professed to love him. The taste of Tibbit’s soft, yet firm lips, the way they yielded as he traced them with the tip of his tongue. The exciting, thrilling moan that issued from Tibbit and worked its magic on Seamus awakening his body in ways he’d long since forgotten. The scent of aftershave or soap mingling with Tibbit’s own unique musk. And under Seamus’s hands the enviable thump of Tibbit’s heart.
It was perfect.
Earth shattering.
He would have been glad if it never ended. Tibbit, on the other hand, had the pesky requirement of oxygen and after a minute he broke their lip lock, pulling back slightly, his breath tickling Seamus’s lips. Seamus wanted so much to kiss him again, to draw him in close, bodies pressed together. Perhaps even let his newly lit desire lead them down a pleasurable trail of discovery in each other. Preferably without bothersome clothing.
Atlas ruined the whole moment with a whimper.
With a sigh Seamus reluctantly stepped back. He licked his lips, the taste of Tibbit lingering on them. Now able to see Tibbit’s face he smiled faintly at the sight of Tibbit’s cheeks flushed, bewilderment making his eyes sparkle. He let his hand remain in place, unable or perhaps unwilling to completely break their contact.
Tibbit cleared his throat. “Is…is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
A shadow seemed to pass over Tibbit, his shoulders slumping, the blush fading from his cheeks. “Please don’t do this, Seamus.”
“Do what?” his eyebrows raised in surprise.
Tibbit averted his gaze. “Toy with me,” he mumbled. He spoke so quietly that Seamus hard trouble making out his words and asked for him to repeat them. “Toy with me,” his voice shook. “It’s wrong of you to call me up here and…and…do that.”
Seamus drew his hand back, blinking. Something stirred within him. “You think I want to make a fool of you, Tibbit? Really, after all this time, that’s what you think of me? You have no idea.”
“This was a bad idea,” Tibbit remarked, making for the door.
Seamus grabbed him, fingers wrapping around Tibbit’s wrist, and though Tibbit refrained from turning back Seamus spoke anyway. “Yesterday you changed everything. You came up here with the intention of ending your life and for hours I talked to Atlas in an attempt to find some purpose for your actions. And it came to me, your desire to be gone and your heartfelt confession, it finally all made sense.”
He paused for a moment waiting to see if Tibbit wanted to add anything. Seamus took it as a good sign that at least Tibbit was willing to remain and hear him out.
“You were hoping to join me,” he said, voice trembling. “But even if you took your life, Tibs…You would be gone. It’s not the land that is cursed.” He released his hold on Tibbit, slipping off his shirt to reveal the hideous stain on his chest. “I am.”
Tibbit turned, silence stretching between them as he spied the mark for the first time. Though Seamus shared with him that bits and pieces of the harrowing story that led to the end of his life, he kept a few key notes to himself. Such as the source of the dark magic that left him dead on the stone floor while making sure there was just enough spark left to keep him kicking. His eyes burned with the welling of unshed tears.
Tibbit reached out, brushing his fingertips over the mark. Seamus shivered at his touch. His mind took to conjuring up a few naughty yet all too delightful images, like shoving Tibbit up against the wall for another steamy kiss while letting his hands explore. He wanted to touch Tibbit as much as he wanted Tibbit to touch him, every nook and cranny, make himself
familiar with the landscape of Tibbit’s body. He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat.
“What—”
It was the only word he managed to get out before Seamus jerked away, pain splintering through his chest.
“Seamus?”
He gasped, falling to his knees, a hand pressed to his chest. White spots danced in his vision and the edges blurred. There was a roaring in his ears reminiscent of waves crashing into the shore. The world around him ebbed and flowed, sometimes glaringly real and other times seeming as though little more than the fog of a dream. He thought he felt Tibbit’s hand on his shoulder. Was someone yelling his name? Was someone whining?
The bitter copper taste of blood flowed into his mouth. Another shockwave of pain wracked his body, bringing him down to the ground in the fetal position. Hot tears flowed from his eyes. His chest ached, burned, and then he felt it.
The weak flutter of his heart.
Beating.
Seamus gasped, drawing oxygen into his lungs. Agony wrapped its bone claw around his chest, squeezing, tightening until he feared his ribs might break. His heart thrummed like a plucked guitar string, feeble, but there nonetheless.
And just as quickly as everything came on it stopped.
He maintained his curled position, afraid to move for fear it might start the process over again. Like a fish out of water he twitched. Gradually Seamus came back to himself, as though he had an out of body experience and was now floating back into his prone form. Warmth radiated off of Atlas who lay pressed against Seamus’s back, soft whimpers easing from the frightened pup. And kneeling before him, a hand on his shoulder, was Tibbit, the worried expression on his face the sort of thing Seamus hated to see. He tried to smile, to brush off the whole incident.
“Seamus, are you okay? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”
He began to cough, a hand going to his chest, the burning sensation easing with each passing second. His heart was still once again and that one fact was nearly enough to drive him into a fresh round of tears. But he wanted to be strong for Tibbit.
Bloodstained Heart Page 3
