by M. A. Grant
Luca rested his hand on her shoulder and skimmed his fingers over her bare skin. She reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Her fingers grazed lightly over a raised scar on her neck, a nervous gesture, and one that drew attention to the still healing fang marks on her wrist. Those were Luca’s, and neither he nor Florica had any shame about showing them off to other vampires.
“We need your help,” Luca told Radu. “What happens to human donors is of less concern to the voivode, I know, but to have their disappearances occurring alongside those of our kind... Something is very wrong in Grigore’s county. We do not wish to go to the Council, but if help does not come soon—”
“I will look into the matter,” Radu promised. He looked at Florica, trying to soften his solemnity. “And I will share your memories with my father.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Noise came from the rear of the bar, a signal that the delivery was almost completed. Luca rose from his seat and kept his hand at the small of Florica’s back when she stood as well. “We will testify if we must,” he told Radu.
“I will have Mircea find you, if I need you to.” He didn’t watch them go. He sat, silent and brooding, as the door closed behind them. When the bartender returned and asked if they needed any other drinks, he waved her off without a word.
It wasn’t just a dismissal of the bartender. Radu’s mind was far away now, separated from the alluring promise of a night together, of lovemaking and feeding that came far too infrequently due to their distance and drastically different lives. When Radu spoke again, it would be a goodbye.
He was a good enough man to not hide the regret in his voice when he said, “I need to visit Grigore’s county. I’ll leave immediately. I don’t want anyone to know I’m coming.” He rose and went to the bar, clearing the tab, and jotting something down on a scrap of paper the bartender handed him. He pushed it across the table when he came back, an address written in black ink in cramped writing.
“Make sure they get this. They are welcome in my house until I call for them.”
* * *
Cristian surfaced from the memory with a gasp. It was so strong, so fresh, he could still smell the dry white wine from the glass, could feel Radu’s rumbling timbre in his bones. He blinked rapidly, trying to force the images away and return to the current moment. Atlas’s grip on the back of his neck helped to ground him, but it also made the hunger under his skin ache all the more, a leftover emotional reaction from watching Radu work, and seeing it through Mircea’s eyes. He’d thought wanting Atlas was painful, but the grief in that memory as Radu walked away again...the cost of knowing exactly what you were losing might be worse.
The other vampire had pulled his arm away from Cristian. He didn’t say a word, simply waited as Cristian gathered himself.
“What did you see?” Atlas asked, his voice rattling some of Cristian’s scattered thoughts back together.
“Enough.” He gave Mircea a nod. “Thank you for helping us. If Sanda comes for you, will you be able to keep our conversation hidden?”
“I would greet the dawn before I betrayed Radu,” Mircea swore.
“I hope you don’t have to,” Cristian said with complete honesty.
He stood, forcing Atlas to give him a bit of space, and managed not to react when Atlas’s hand slid away from his neck. The urge to touch, to sate his desire for closeness, couldn’t be indulged now. Even if it could, there was no escaping the grim fact that Atlas would never open himself fully to Cristian. He had too many secrets to hide; they would never be as close as Mircea and Radu were.
He shoved down his jealousy and told Mircea, “Give me your number. If we learn anything, we’ll let you know.”
He put the number into his phone, made one last goodbye, and led Atlas back to the front door. They put their shoes on in silence and left. Outside, the night lived and breathed. A symphony of insects surrounded them as they walked back to town. Sometimes, a bird or animal from farther out in the nearby forest would call, a faint reminder that there were more things in the shadows than they knew.
Atlas waited until they came in sight of the nearest streetlight to ask, “Did you see anything useful?”
“Yes. An address.”
“You want to go there,” Atlas said. It wasn’t a question.
“I don’t know this Grigore,” Cristian said. “I don’t remember ever meeting him when my family came over here and visited. But he runs one of the larger counties, and Mihai placed Emil there for a reason.”
“Why would he do that?” Atlas asked.
“We live for a long time,” Cristian said, kicking at a pebble on the street and watching it skitter away out of the streetlight’s reach. “There are always those who seek to replace the current leaders and claim their territory. But no one’s tried to undo Mihai’s empire. He’s too old and experienced. Only other elders could ever hope to stand against him.”
“Elders...like the ones on the Council who are coming to investigate him?” Atlas asked.
“Exactly.”
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Fuck indeed,” Cristian agreed. If Grigore drew the Council’s attention, it wouldn’t take much for him to step back and let someone else do the dirty work for him. It would probably be his best—and only—shot at overthrowing Mihai and his family.
“I could reach out to Emil,” Cristian mused. “See if he knows what’s going on.”
Atlas gave a vehement shake of his head. “We don’t know him. Too risky. You have Mircea’s memories of the meeting, right?” When Cristian nodded, he went on, “Show that to the Council. It should be enough to make them doubt Mihai’s guilt.”
“It’d be better if we could bring Florica back though,” Cristian argued. “Personal testimony, as well as access to other memories of what Grigore’s been doing. The Council may even offer to help look for Radu, if there’s suspicion Grigore is involved in his disappearance.”
“Cristian, the Council will be at the nest. How can we bring her back without getting caught by them?”
“We’ll drop her off at the nest and leave again before the Council or the Wharrams even know we’re there.”
Atlas sighed. “I don’t like it.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
“No. If we find Florica, we bring her back to the nest and get out.” He gave Cristian a pointed look. “Once we drop her off, we lie low. No arguments, no tricks. Just you and me pretending we don’t exist until Mihai tells us the Council is gone or that we aren’t in danger from them. Understand?” When Cristian nodded he asked, “Where is this safe house?”
“In Târgu Mureș. It’s a big city, so we should be able to blend in easier. And it’ll also give me the chance to stop and exchange our funds, in case we need the cash later.”
Atlas was silent for a long while. He trudged along the wet road beside Cristian—at least the rain had finally stopped—and kept his eyes on his feet. He was pondering something, and was doing it deeply enough Cristian couldn’t get any read off him. They mutually avoided the road to the bar, taking a side street to the place they’d parked their car. To Cristian’s confusion, Atlas didn’t start the car once they got inside.
He sat in the driver’s seat, staring out the windshield, lost in thought.
“Something troubling you, Mr. Kinkaid?” Cristian asked, hoping to pull Atlas back.
“I worry,” Atlas said slowly, before trailing off.
“About?”
“We both knew this would be dangerous,” Atlas finally continued. “This situation with Radu and Grigore only makes it worse.”
Cristian swallowed and bit back his question about how Atlas was handling the return to the country where he was attacked.
It didn’t matter. Atlas read his hesitation for what it was anyway. “Yes, I mean in every way. I’m terrified to be back
here. I keep waiting for something to jump out of the shadows at me. But I can’t stop doing my job just because I’m scared.” He gave Cristian a pointed look. “No one else should either. I’ll speak up if I can’t handle something.”
“You can barely bring yourself to acknowledge our physical attraction, but you’ll tell me when you can’t handle your trauma,” he said, disbelieving. “Really, Atlas?” The question came out sharper than he intended. He blamed the raw nerve ending of emotion he couldn’t shake, but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done.
Atlas frowned and closed up, reverting to his professional mask.
“You’re right,” he said curtly. “I’m sorry.”
“Atlas, I didn’t mean it like... I’m sorry. If you want me to trust you, I’ll—”
Atlas shook his head and cut off Cristian’s words by starting the car. “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
But, Cristian thought as they drove away, I would still grant it, despite everything.
Chapter Four
Radu’s safe house was sheltered in a quiet, residential neighborhood outside the main center of Târgu Mureș. Atlas muttered about the beauty of the town as they drove through, admiring the colors and open plazas lit up for the evening with a tourist’s eye. The lights reflected off the gathering storm clouds overhead, promising a deluge to come. Cristian acknowledged Atlas’s running commentary off and on, but he couldn’t forget the images he and his father had watched on television of the violence that occurred only a few decades earlier, shortly after Angelica’s death. They stood there in horror, every moment of the Black March etching itself deeply into their soul beside their new grief. Somehow, mourning for the events occurring halfway across the world in a country they both loved was easier than confronting the deep pit of misery left by Angelica’s loss.
Eventually, Andrei and Helias found them. Helias tried to lead them from the room. When they didn’t budge, he worked to pry the remote from Decebal’s hand, to no avail. Andrei was the one who finally broke through their haze. He unplugged the television. Only when the screen went black and he was faced with his own blurry reflection did Cristian realize he’d started crying at some point. Decebal was in a similar state. They left the room under the watchful eyes of their family and never spoke of it afterward.
Visiting the city now, his earlier grief rose anew and threatened to swallow him whole. He wasn’t a fool. The anger and fear that had washed through these streets, the bloodshed, and the unhealed wounds still existed... Those truths tarnished the glorious architecture, the progress made, even the wealth of art and culture he could see surrounding them. He wondered how Radu, who had lived in this region for centuries and seen it transform around him, could handle the crushing weight of history.
“You don’t like it here,” Atlas said unexpectedly, breaking Cristian from his dark thoughts.
“What?”
“You look like you did when we had to go to Hahn Lake,” Atlas explained, “like you’d rather be anywhere but here. Is this place dangerous?”
“No,” Cristian said. “Just...bad memories.”
Atlas hummed in acceptance of his poor explanation, but reached out and placed a gentle hand on his knee. “We’re almost there,” he said.
The lack of platitudes or moral encouragement was a relief. He should have known Atlas wouldn’t bullshit about making new, better memories. If anyone else could understand the need to persevere through the darkest thoughts to rise up in his head, it was Atlas.
They found an empty parking spot at the far end of the street. Cristian didn’t mind walking to reach the house; the movement gave him something else to focus on. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked slowly down the street. It wasn’t anything fancy. Duplexes and houses crushed together with the familiarity of decades of living together in small spaces. Radu may have had unlimited funds to invest in property—most vampires did—but he’d picked this place on purpose. This street provided camouflage because of how normal it was.
A few people were out, either heading home from visiting others or finishing up their day’s work and returning home for the night. None of them gave the pair odd looks as they passed, a benefit of the town’s artistic history and its university. Atlas stuck to his side, a comfortable presence. They were nearly to the house when Atlas glanced up at the sky, wrinkled his nose, and said, “Looks like it’s going to rain.”
Overhead, thunder rumbled, a rich, rolling sound that vibrated down the street and into their bones.
Cristian laughed. “What gave that away?”
Atlas nudged him with an elbow in retaliation, and Cristian nudged back. For a foolish second, he wondered if this is what human life was like. Mundanity aside, the comfort of walking home with your partner, discussing nonsensical things, and of knowing you were safe in each other’s presence... He could get used to that, even if they wouldn’t be able to bond through feeding.
Without that bond, they would never have the hard-won intimacy of true partners. He had to remember that. Falling for a false future was not something he could afford if he wanted to secure his father’s safety and territory, and ensure Atlas got the answers he needed about his past.
A flash of lightning split the sky and Atlas slowed his pace. “Isn’t that where we’re going?” he asked Cristian, worried.
The house in question was painted the same shade of ripened barley as the rest of the row. Its only defining feature was the dark orange trim. Oh, and the obnoxious yellow tape strung across the front door.
The storm’s breeze made the tape shiver and Cristian didn’t need to get any closer to read the black block letters. “Shit.”
They passed the house, trying not to stare too openly at the obvious crime scene. They reached the end of the block and turned the corner before slowing again.
“We have to get in there,” Cristian griped.
Atlas nodded, though he was already looking down the narrow alley to their right. “Looks like this runs between the rows of houses,” he said. “I wonder if it’ll run alongside the backyards.”
“Might as well try it,” Cristian said, and followed him. Maybe, if they hurried, they’d avoid the storm opening up on them. The lightning was still going and the thunder was getting closer and louder every minute.
The alley must have provided access for city workers, because it was small and cramped and functional, rather than charming. It did run alongside the back fences of several yards though, which was exactly what they needed. They relied on the ambient light from the buildings, the lightning’s flashes, and their own strong night vision to work their way closer and closer to Radu’s house.
“Well,” Atlas said when they finally stopped on the other side of a tall fence, “we found it.”
Cristian gawked up at the security measures at the top of the fence. The wooden slats were cut in decorative patterns, all stake shaped, and two parallel sets of razor wire were set above those. “This seems like overkill.”
The low, amused huff of laughter from Atlas blended in with the thunder. “I’ve seen worse.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Travel through some war zones and you’ll realize how far people will go to protect those they care for.” Atlas left him to walk the line of the fence.
Cristian could admit Atlas had a point. His father carefully dug out the nest beneath the Scarsdale mansion they used as their business front; he needed to know their family—those by blood, and those by choice—always had a safe place to return to. This fence was Radu’s attempt to do the same. Whoever used this safe house would rely on him to protect them, and he took that role seriously.
The problem was that they needed to get in, and the fence was definitely made to keep them out. Cristian frowned and stepped back as far as the alley space would allow, craning his head back and trying to figure out a solution. Between the decorative stakes at the t
op of the fence and the strands of razor wire above them, any intruder was guaranteed to wind up injured. Surely Atlas would have an idea of how to get inside though.
He turned to call to him, only to find the man was gone. Vanished. Disappeared into thin air.
He tried to listen, to pick out the tattoo of Atlas’s heartbeat, but couldn’t through the thunder. He couldn’t catch any scents either.
“Mr. Kinkaid,” he called, his skin prickling. He rubbed a hand over his arm in irritation, refusing to acknowledge the fears rising, and tried again. “Atlas, where are you?”
The grumpy, muffled, “Hold on,” he got relieved the worst of the adrenaline rush, but left him with trembling knees and a disquieting worry over how easily Atlas had disappeared from his sight and senses.
A moment later, the far edge of the wooden fence shuddered and Atlas crawled his way back out of the yard. He didn’t bother to get up, or finish exiting the yard at all. He simply looked over to Cristian. Whatever he saw made him close his eyes and shake his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled. Then, he said again, louder over the thunder, “Sorry. I should have warned you what I was doing.”
“No need to apologize,” Cristian lied through his gritted teeth. “I’m not paid to keep an eye on you.”
Atlas shuffled back through the hole in the fence, though he kept his gaze on Cristian as he did. “Found a way in,” he said before disappearing back into the yard.
“Obviously,” Cristian muttered, though he knew Atlas couldn’t hear him. He walked to the hole and knelt beside it. The wood was freshly broken, the exposed edges pale against the stained exteriors, and Cristian frowned and ran a finger down the long scratches running along the seam in the fence where the first board had been pried free.
“Mr. Slava,” Atlas called from inside the yard. “You coming?”
“I wish. Might help relieve stress,” he said, loud enough he knew Atlas would hear. He hoped the man was rolling his eyes. Bastard deserved it for making him worry.
