by M. A. Grant
“Their vice-ispáns have now been made aware of his absence and will reach out to all our people to keep an eye out for him,” Mihai explained.
“They will contact us when they learn anything. We are... We continue to hope, as best we can,” Cosmina said, her voice wavering.
Cristian nodded, incapable of ordering his jumbled thoughts. Radu was brash, young, and fun loving, but he valued his family above all else. Hurting them in any way was abhorrent to him, always had been. Hell, he couldn’t even lie to Mihai about practical jokes he and Cristian had played around the nest because of how deeply he felt his father’s disappointment.
Mihai held a hand out toward the door, indicating Cristian and Atlas follow him to it. When they obeyed, he promised, “Cristian, we will speak on the matter later. For now, you will be shown to your room. Bogdan or Crina will ensure you want for nothing.”
“Thank you,” Cristian murmured, knowing neither consilier would be able to give him the information he wanted about Radu’s disappearance. He would have to wait to learn more. “I look forward to speaking with you further.”
* * *
Atlas had the patience and good sense to wait until they were safely tucked away in their room before crossing his arms and asking flatly, “What the hell was that?”
Crina wasn’t lingering in the hall, at least not that Cristian could hear through the wooden door he’d locked behind them. The cavern walls of the room were cool to the touch, so thick even vibrations from the nearby chambers were stopped. It was as safe to talk as he could hope.
“That,” Cristian said as he paced the rug near the fireplace, “was very bad news.”
“Who’s Radu?”
“Mihai’s son and heir to the territory. He’s—” Cristian trailed off, unsure how to explain their relationship. Radu was a bit older than Cristian, adventurous and charming. He’d been Cristian’s loyal co-conspirator during the Vladislavics’ stay. They’d enjoyed a couple of fumbling trysts, mostly out of curiosity and friendly interest, and had broken things off at the end of the trip without any hard feelings or romantic longings. Cristian had only spoken to Radu a handful of times since, most recently after his mother’s death. “He’s a friend,” he finished at last, hoping it was still true.
“How good of a friend?” It would have been a simple clarification, if not for Atlas’s glower.
Cristian made a face. “Not that kind of friend.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.” Cristian halted his pacing, tired of repeating the same steps only to wind up in the same place again and again. “He’s a good man. Willing to take on the responsibility for the territory, and he has a genuine interest in the family business. Mihai will be able to step down whenever he chooses because his son is prepared to shoulder the burden of his position. Mother used to snap at Father for asking me why I couldn’t be more like Radu...” Cristian trailed off, the memory aching in his head and chest. “He hasn’t brought it up since she died, actually.”
“Cristian,” Atlas began, but Cristian waved him off.
Their backpacks had been placed on the floor at the foot of the bed, and Atlas nudged them out of his way as he sat on the edge of the mattress. “Maybe he wanted freedom,” he said cautiously. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen responsible people head off on their own to get a fresh start.”
Cristian understood his point. The stress and weight of expectations was a heavy burden, one he knew intimately. Some days, the thought of walking away and leaving it all behind was almost too strong to resist. He wouldn’t put his father through the pain of loss, but he did everything in his power to shirk his responsibilities or focus on doing the bare minimum. Radu handled the stress of inheritance by throwing himself fully into his role. He was his father’s right hand, and the staunch supporter and protector of his mother and sister, no matter the cost. That was something Atlas would understand perfectly.
“Would you walk away from Beatrice to secure your own freedom?” Cristian asked him. Atlas frowned, but didn’t speak, weighing his words carefully. Cristian forged ahead, hoping his message sunk in. “She’s your older sister. Has she ever walked away from you?”
“She practically raised me,” Atlas admitted. “She’d never leave me behind.”
“Radu dotes on Ileana. About a century ago, another leader threatened to invade this territory unless she was bonded to his son, who’d been brought to the Council six times for killing his donors. Nothing was ever done to him because they were human.”
Atlas grimaced. “And there would be no reason to expect him to not treat Ileana the same way.”
Cristian nodded, unsure how much of the truth Atlas would be able to stomach. He knew their worlds were different, and Atlas had only seen the way Scarsdale, a tiny territory with unusual rules, was run. Perhaps he needed to learn the kind of vampires they were dealing with now.
“Radu encouraged the match,” Cristian began, noting Atlas’s widening eyes. “He convinced the future bondmate and his family to visit Braşov with a Council member so the bonding ceremony could occur quickly. Radu mentioned that requesting safe passage in Romanian might win some of Ileana’s favor before the marriage. The idiot was arrogant enough to try, but didn’t realize the phrasing only specified safe passage for his family, not for himself. Radu ripped out his throat in front of everyone, including the Council member. The family had no recourse, since the fault lay with their son.”
“And no one has asked for Ileana’s hand since,” Atlas mused. “He established his reputation and ensured her freedom at the same time.”
“He protected his sister, even though he knew the murder might force him to face a Council tribunal. He wouldn’t leave without telling her where he was going.” Cristian tapped a finger against his thigh, mind racing. Under normal circumstances, Radu wouldn’t leave without informing his family. But these weren’t exactly normal circumstances they were dealing with, were they? They’d come to Romania to track down the truth of the strigoi. Scarsdale, his family estate, he and Atlas...they’d been attacked out of the blue. Atlas’s past proved strigoi had been present in the Dunării territory years ago. Was it that far of a leap to think they were still loose here? That they could have had something to do with Radu’s unexpected and uncharacteristic disappearance?
“Maybe tomorrow while you’re talking to Mihai, I’ll talk to Ileana. See if she knows anything else about where he might be,” Atlas pondered, breaking Cristian from his thoughts.
He shook his head. “No.”
It was the wrong order to give. Atlas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and eyed Cristian. “Oh, really?”
“I want you with me when we speak to Mihai. You may think of something I’ll miss.”
Atlas fought his growing smile poorly. “Blatant flattery aside, there’s another reason you don’t want me alone with her, isn’t there?”
“No.” Cristian stalked to the bed and pushed his backpack away with a foot, clearing his own space to sit beside Atlas. He stared at the fireplace, ignoring the way Atlas watched him, and tried to let the subject lie. It was a battle he lost quickly. “Maybe.”
“Because she asked if I was a donor?” Atlas asked.
Cristian risked a sideways glance. Atlas rested his chin in an upraised hand, looking smug as could be. “How’d you know that?”
“I may not speak Romanian,” Atlas said, “but some words are close enough to get from context.” A bit of his good humor faded when he thought a bit longer and added, “The way she was staring at my neck was also a bit of a giveaway.”
“I won’t let her touch you,” Cristian promised before wincing at his proprietary words. “I mean, not if you don’t want her to.”
“I don’t,” Atlas said. “But I think you already knew that.”
He wasn’t wrong. The scent of gun smoke ha
d faded the farther they got from the Dunării family’s wing, and finally vanished when Cristian locked the door of their room. Atlas felt safe here, away from Ileana’s interest.
“If you turn her down, she won’t push you,” he told Atlas. “But I can’t say the same about other vampires. In case we ever get separated, I’d feel better if you had protection.”
“I’m not carrying a gun,” he growled.
Cristian rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed. “How American of you to assume I’d suggest one. Guns don’t do shit against us, unless you’re very, very good.” He turned his head and gave Atlas a sharp smile. “I know you likely are that good, but they’re still more of a distraction than a useful tool. No, we’re going to want something else. Silver, maybe... I’ll ask around tomorrow. Mihai and his family may not consider humans valuable, but they’re still necessary and need protection. Someone will have a suggestion for us.”
Atlas swore and lay back on the bed, shifting until he was comfortable and eye-level to Cristian. “Is everywhere like this?”
“Busy, complicated, and political?” Cristian shrugged. “Yes.”
Atlas grunted in displeasure and drew an arm over his eyes. “I thought we were coming here to find strigoi. I didn’t plan for any of this.”
“We’ll find the strigoi,” Cristian assured him. “And then we’ll go home.”
Atlas hummed at such absurd optimism and Cristian granted himself a moment to take in the way the light fell over him. His comfortable travel clothes were rumpled, his body lax from exhaustion, and he’d probably fall asleep in place if he wasn’t urged to prepare for bed.
The linens beneath them whispered when Atlas shifted his shoulders to settle more comfortably into the mattress. “If we have a home to go back to,” he mumbled.
“None of that,” Cristian chided. “Worrying will keep me up. We’ll deal with this.” He nudged Atlas with an elbow. “Come on. Things will look better after we’ve slept.”
He coaxed Atlas to get ready for bed before going about his own nightly ablutions. By the time he’d finished, Atlas had drifted off. Cristian tried to ignore the tightening in his chest as he watched his lover sleeping with the stillness that only came from true, deep exhaustion. Atlas had said they’d figure out whatever this thing between them was, but Cristian wasn’t sure it would ever be that easy. Atlas was too haunted by his past mistakes to judge himself fairly.
Hopefully, Cristian thought as he crawled under the sheets, someday I can tell him why his past actions don’t define him. Maybe then he’ll understand why I’m willing to wait for him. But until he does...
He tentatively curled up against Atlas’s back, trying to match their breathing. They’d find their equilibrium somehow. They’d face what was coming together. He was sure of it. He told it to himself over and over again, until his body went lax and he couldn’t separate out their inhalations or exhalations. Only then did he let Atlas’s steady heartbeat lull him to sleep.
* * *
Atlas’s nightmare woke them both. Cristian came to first, groggy and confused by the suffocating stench of misery coming from his bedmate. A moment later, confronted with Atlas’s low whimpers and the shivers running through the bed as his limbs tensed and moved in his sleep, Cristian realized what was happening.
“Atlas,” he whispered. He knew better than to reach out and try to wake him. He’d witnessed Atlas hold his own against Andrei and a strigoi, and had no intention of causing him to accidentally lash out. When Atlas didn’t rouse at his name, Cristian tried again. “Atlas, wake up.”
Nothing.
“Atlas, we’re safe. There’s nothing here with us. We’re both alive.” He swallowed when Atlas made a grunt of pain and jerked in his sleep. Shit, this wasn’t helping...but he wasn’t about to stop trying. He had to catch Atlas’s attention somehow.
Their moment in the airport lounge, of Atlas’s naked curiosity when Cristian began speaking Romanian, returned without warning. Desperate, Cristian began speaking again, low and slow, letting the rhythm of the words build and dance as he went. Even if Atlas couldn’t understand a damn thing he was saying, it might be enough to drag him out of whatever hellish world he was caught in inside his head. “Atlas Kinkaid, I know you can hear me. You need to wake up. It’s only fair, since you woke me. I was sleeping, actually sleeping, for the first time in ages, and you dared to have a nightmare.” He checked that there was space between them and carefully laid back down, rolling on to his side so he could see if his words were having any effect.
Atlas’s whimpers had quieted, though he still moved like he was fighting—or fleeing—something.
“Do you remember when you learned what I was?” Cristian asked him. “You acted as if I were the scariest creature in the world. How far have I fallen in your esteem that you no longer think that? Nothing will come near you while I lay beside you. Nothing would dare to. Tell those monsters in your head this. Remind them who I am, what I will do to them, for your sake. Surely that would help—”
Atlas’s body stilled. “Cris?” he mumbled, lost and raw. His hand searched the bed until it connected with Cristian’s forearm. Atlas heaved a shuddering sigh and held tightly. “Couldn’t find you...”
“I’m here,” Cristian said. He almost held himself back, but the urge to comfort was too strong and he leaned close enough he could press a kiss to Atlas’s knuckles. “We’re both here. We’re safe.”
Atlas came back to himself more and more with every passing second. “Sorry. Hoped they wouldn’t come back yet.”
“You’re either an optimist or a masochist for thinking they wouldn’t start up the moment we set foot in this country.”
Atlas gave a damp, weak laugh, and didn’t let go of Cristian’s arm. The brush of their skin together, the warmth of Atlas’s hand wrapping around his cool forearm, was divine. He was so caught up in the sensation he almost missed Atlas’s question. “What?” he asked, scrambling to cover for his distraction.
“You were talking to me,” Atlas said again, slow, but slightly more awake. “What did you say?”
“Not much,” Cristian lied. “I was mostly complaining about being awake at—” He fumbled for the phone they’d plugged in to charge and winced at the time. “—midafternoon.”
“Fuck,” Atlas rasped, “that’s early.”
They lay in mutual silence. Atlas didn’t seem willing to release Cristian yet, which wasn’t a hardship. Cristian had relied on Atlas too many times to count since he started working for the family; helping Atlas ground himself was the least he could do. He didn’t think he was that tired, but he must have dozed off, because Atlas releasing his arm jolted him awake again.
“Where are you going?” he blurted out when Atlas sat up.
“Going to shower,” Atlas said. “I don’t want to risk it starting again if I go back to sleep. You need the rest though.”
Cristian yawned, briefly regretted most of his long life’s decisions, remembered they had led him to Atlas, and, with much greater enthusiasm, forced himself up out of the soft embrace of the bed. He ignored Atlas’s questioning “Cristian?” and started searching for clothes.
He found a pair of socks and managed to get them on without stumbling too badly. “I’ll get us some breakfast,” he said. “May as well start the day early.”
“If you wait for me—”
He scoffed and stretched, noting how his healed bite still itched a bit under the skin. One more feeding and he’d probably be back to full strength. “This is the safest place we can be during our stay. I will be able to reach the kitchen and return without any immediate threats, I assure you. Shower. Take however long you need. Wake yourself up fully. I’ll be back soon.”
Atlas grumbled, but didn’t stop him, proving how shitty and off balance he felt. As he headed to the bathroom, Cristian hurried to the kitchen. No expense had been spared in the space,
and he marveled at the restaurant-style appliances. A heavy door used for refrigeration and freezer units seemed sealed directly into the stone wall, while pantry shelves carved straight into the rock around it held a variety of staple items. He found more shelves—beautifully aged wood this time—on the opposite side of the kitchen near the sink.
A cold pot of coffee sat on the counter. He grimaced at the thought of Atlas’s reaction to a cup of the brew. It didn’t take long to boil some water and prepare Atlas a fresh cup of instant coffee instead. It took far longer to search the fridges for any blood bags. He took one of the dwindling supply, hoping Mihai wouldn’t be upset about it, and fed in the kitchen. If Atlas’s nightmares had been tied to the strigoi, he didn’t want to bring the scent of fresh blood into their room and make things worse.
He tidied up, grabbed Atlas’s cup, and retraced his steps to their room. He was almost there when footsteps sounded down the hall behind him. Damn it, he’d sworn he could make a simple coffee run without any problems. He doubted this unexpected guest wished to harm to him; their reason for coming to get him at this horrendous hour...that was the real threat.
Bogdan stumbled a little in surprise when he found Cristian waiting impatiently for him in the hall. “Voivode Mihai needs to speak to you.”
“This early?” Cristian asked, hoping to draw out some kind of clue about the situation.
“I’m afraid so. He said it involves the Council.”
“Fucking hell,” Cristian snarled. He turned on his heel and opened his door. “Mr. Billings and I will be there shortly.”
The shower was still running, so Cristian set Atlas’s coffee down and began stripping. He ignored the carefully carved limestone framing the open shower, more focused on the incredible sight of the man standing underneath the spray. Atlas remained beneath the steaming water, letting it beat down over his shoulders and neck, and gave Cristian’s nudity a confused, albeit intrigued, look as he came closer.
