by Alex Jane
Nathaniel looked pale, his movements stiff as he stepped back and waved Gabriel into the room. To Gabriel's surprise, he heard the click of a lock behind him and whirled around.
Nathaniel held up his hand, the key remaining in the lock. "I don't want us interrupted under any circumstance. What I have to say to you is too important."
"You only wish to talk then?" Gabriel was unsurprised but needless to say a little disappointed.
"Oh, I'd like more," Nathaniel said bitterly as he walked back to his desk. "However, you might not want anything further from me after we speak."
"I find that unlikely," Gabriel muttered but moved to the chair at the table when Nathaniel gestured to it.
He sat and waited. Then waited some more, the time stretching out marked by the loud ticking of the mantle clock, until Gabriel breathed out, "Nate. You're scaring me."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" Nathaniel covered his face with his hands for a moment before taking a deep breath and settling back in his chair. He unlocked the drawer there, slowly turning the key before opening it. "Last night…last night, I wanted…"
"I wanted it too," Gabriel confessed, and Nathaniel nodded.
"But it wouldn't have been fair, you see. Not until you know the truth."
Gabriel could hardly bare to breathe. "The truth about what."
A sound almost like a sob came from across the desk, then Nathaniel reached into the drawer and pulled out the cloth Gabriel had seen in his hands three weeks before. Nathaniel touched it gently, turning the fabric in his hands before clearing his throat. "I wouldn't have done anything back then," he said, handing the bundle over and placing it on the desk in front of Gabriel. "I swear I would never have—"
He cut himself off as soon as Gabriel touched the fabric. It was hard to tell what it was at first. The scent was vaguely familiar but as he unfolded it a spark of recognition hit him.
"This is mine," he muttered. "This is my undershirt. Here. This is where I spilled grape juice on it." He racked his mind, trying to think of when he'd last seen it, burrowing through all the childhood memories that came flooding back, almost eclipsing the most important question.
He looked up at Nathaniel. "Why do you have this? How do you have this?"
"Took it." Nathaniel voice was small, breaking with the shame and unhappiness. "I took it."
"Why would you—?"
"I didn't know. I swear, I didn't know right away. Not until later. Not when you were—"
"Oh god."
"You were so young and I swear I never would have approached you like that. I only wanted to be your friend. To be near you. I was prepared to wait. I would have waited."
"Why didn't you say anything?" Gabriel felt as if the world was falling away under his feet. If he was understanding right, and it was hard to believe Nathaniel meant anything else, his husband had known they were mates back then, back before the accident, back before they had been separated for over a decade. "You should have said something."
Nathaniel shook his head. "I couldn't. I couldn't," he pleaded. "The first time I realized who you were to me I was seventeen. You were eleven. I had no interest in you…you sexually, but your mother would never have allowed me near you again."
"She would. Reuben could have chaperoned us—" The laugh Nathaniel barked out was vicious and clearly Gabriel was missing something. "What is it? What did he do?"
"What didn't he do," Nathaniel mumbled as he slumped back in his chair.
Gabriel tried to wrap his head around what Nathaniel was telling him. Struggling to think, he got up out of his chair and made straight for the liquor cabinet. He poured a large bourbon and downed it in one swallow before pouring another, plus a measure for his husband. When he came back to stand at the desk, he hesitated before placing the glass on the table in front of Nathaniel.
"Is this about what happened in the carriage?" Gabriel uttered the words softly but Nathaniel acted as if he'd reached across the table and slapped him, jolting then nodding his bowed head, tears welling in his eyes. "Tell me what happened, Nate."
"I can't," Nathaniel pleaded, but Gabriel was in no mood to argue.
"How can we go on otherwise? You have this—this guilt, and I will always wonder and it will come between us and I can't live like that. And neither can you."
"And what if you hate me afterward? What then? How will we live like that?"
Gabriel stretched over the wide desk and grabbed Nathaniel's hand and held tight. "I've loved you since before I even knew what love was. That won't change. I swear to you that won't change."
Nathaniel clung to Gabriel's touch, his eyes closed tight for a moment, then released him, nodding slightly. It was enough for Gabriel to retake his seat and wait as Nathaniel gathered himself. It took some time and the entire glass of whiskey before he started.
"There was an event—a ball—we had been invited to," Nathaniel said, his voice rough with emotion. "Reuben was always teasing me about my reticence to find a mate. Said I was an embarrassment although I think he blamed me for not wanting what he wanted. I never stopped him from going, but he always insisted I be there with him. I usually went along, of course, but he'd still complain the entire time that I should be dancing or socializing, taking part in the games or…"
Words seemed to get caught up inside him, and he looked toward the window, distress and grief clear in his eyes at the memories.
Gabriel cleared his throat. "I remember," he said. "The two of you all dressed up, heading out to this event and that. I always felt so jealous, sitting on the stairs, watching Mother fuss over you and send you off. I think I told Reuben about it once and he said my turn would come soon enough. I remember being so confused as I meant I was jealous of whoever got to dance with you."
"I never danced with anybody," Nathaniel admitted, his head bowed. Taking breath, he sat tall and went on. "Anyway, the event was getting closer and his teasing was beginning to become cruel. Relentless and cruel. I had told him again and again to stop, to just let me choose someone in my own time, but you know what he was like. Always so controlling and overbearing, not being able to let go like a—"
"Dog with a bone? That's what Mother used to say."
"Yes. Yes, she did. We…we were coming back from the theatre. It wasn't late and the roads were hardly crowded—" Nathaniel fell forward, his hands fisting in his hair, keening at the memory. "We'd both been drinking and he kept on and on at me and I snapped. I just wanted him to stop."
"What did you do?"
"I told him I had met someone, my mate, but it was too soon to approach them and he would have to wait to find out, but he kept talking and talking, going on and on. He was angry that I would keep anything from him, started pushing me and calling me a liar."
"What did you do, Nathaniel?"
"I told him, all right!" Nathaniel looked up, his face stricken, his sunken dead eye made more stark by the red rings of grief around his eyes. "I told him I loved you and you were my mate, and he went insane.
"He said I was disgusting. That the only reason I was his friend was to take advantage of you. That I was a monster and he would rather kill us both than let us be together."
"Oh, dear god."
"Then he transformed, right there in the carriage. I never saw such a thing. One minute he was screaming, the next his wolf was coming at me. He meant to kill me, I have no doubt. We fought, there was blood. That's all I remember until I woke up in the hospital. They told me it wasn't my fault, but I killed him. I killed Reuben."
Gabriel didn't know what to do. The silence that had fallen over them was excruciating but he wasn't sure how to break it. "It wasn't you," he said finally. "From what the driver could recall, the horse was spooked by something, probably the sound of Reuben's wolf lashing out. It bolted, the carriage tipped over and was dragged…" The official cause of death was decapitation, though he'd deduced with all the unspoken words and dark glances that Reuben had to have been trapped beneath the carriage for some time for such
a thing to have taken place and one couldn't think about that for long.
"If I'd only kept my mouth shut, held on a little longer. Two more years and I could have—"
"Gone insane! No. I won't let you blame yourself for what happened. Even if you had waited two years, Reuben wouldn't have reacted any differently. You're right. He was controlling, and jealous, and if it wasn't for my mother I would have thought that was what an Alpha was. He never would have let you take me from him."
"Maybe," Nathaniel said, quiet and distracted. He looked almost childlike as he reached out and took the old undershirt he'd kept all those years, cradling it in his hands, folding it gently in on itself before replacing it in his drawer and locking it. "All I know is I was the one who caused his death, then your mother died and your pack was left to fend for itself. I tried to stay away, I really did, but I wanted so much to see you and now…" He looked up at Gabriel, eerily composed, his voice level as he said, "Can you honestly tell me that you can look on me as anything other than a monster picking over the bones of a dead man's life?"
Anger flared in Gabriel, although he couldn't say exactly where it was coming from or to whom it was directed. All he knew was that Nathaniel had been right earlier about him needing some air.
"In this moment, all I can say is that your only offense in my eyes is having such a low regard for me that you imagine me nothing more than another man's chattel." Forcing himself to sound less murderous, he released the fists he'd been making and took a breath to say, "Solomon is expecting me. And I need some time to think over this. It's a lot to…to take in."
As he was unlocking the door, Nathaniel said hesitantly, "Last night—I hope you understand now why I had to go. Why we couldn't… I never wanted to deceive you, Gabe."
"Don't worry," Gabriel replied. "I'm quite good at managing that myself."
Gabriel didn't register moving through the house, only coming back to his senses when he found himself outside on the terrace, gulping air into his lungs, his head swimming from the booze and the shock of Nathaniel's confession. Moving down the steps to the garden, his feet appeared to make the decision to turn toward the glasshouse rather than toward the gardens where Solomon would be waiting for him. He was in no state to be wielding a spade, not without clearing his head first.
After the initial creak of the door hinges, the place was peaceful, if a little warm. Going through the ritual of opening the vents and checking the water levels was restful in its own way. He had half a mind to start rubbing down the next part of the ironwork but instead he wandered for a while, touching the leaves of the plants, not speaking to them as was Frank's habit but being among them in quiet companionship.
When Solomon found him, he was sitting on the stool that was Priscilla's favored perch, looking at nothing in particular out of the freshly washed windows. Solomon sighed when he saw him there and dragged a crate over to sit next to him. "He told you, then," he said as he sat, not bothering to frame his words as a question.
"You knew?" Gabriel wasn't wholly surprised but it still seemed strange.
"Poor boy had to tell somebody. It's only me and Ruth who know the whole story, I think. He tried to keep it to himself but we were there when he was at his worst and these things have a way of coming out whether you want them to or not." Solomon rubbed the flat of his weathered hand across his stubbled jaw. "I tell you. He was in such a state when they brought him home from the hospital. Not just from his injuries but in his head."
"My brother did that to him," Gabriel whispered. "Reuben did that. His best and oldest friend and he just—"
Solomon only shrugged. "It was obvious really to anyone with half a brain what had happened. Only an Alpha can hurt another so badly. And with the trauma of the circumstances… It baffles me that his parents seemed to think he was somehow to blame for not getting better. Like he was denying the healing when it was plain for everyone to see he wanted nothing more than to forget what had happened."
"I still don't understand how he can so much as look at me, knowing my brother caused him all this pain."
To Gabriel's surprise, Solomon chuckled. "Then you don't know much about mates, do you, lad? You could chew that boy up and spit him out and he'd still crawl through fire to lick your boots."
It sounded ridiculous, but as much as Gabriel wanted to dissuade Solomon of that theory, he knew in his heart he would do the same for Nathaniel.
"Besides," Solomon added, "he's up there thinking the same of you." Gabriel frowned at him but all Solomon did was smile. "As far as our Alpha is concerned, he killed your brother, caused your mother such heartache that she died of a broken heart, threw your pack into disarray, and then pressured you to marry him against your will. Don't let him fool you. He's scared to death you'll leave."
"I won't leave him," Gabriel said quiet but sure. "I just don't know how to talk to him right now. He lied to me, Solomon. He lied to me and left me alone for ten years when I was lost and grieving and I needed him."
"Well, he's here now." Solomon groaned slightly as he rose from his seat, clapping a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Come on. What you need is a few hours of good, honest physical labor to get your mind straightened out."
Gabriel barked out a laugh. "I suppose your advice has nothing to do with the fact that the cauliflowers need planting?"
"Merely a happy coincidence." Solomon smiled in that kind, sweet way he had that brooked no argument, before he turned and walked away. Gabriel followed, knowing he was right and, at least, if he was digging vegetable beds, he wouldn't have time to worry about what he would say over lunch when he saw his husband again.
Except, at lunch there was no husband to be seen. Gabriel was feeling better about things by the time Eunice called them in. Didn't stop his heart from pounding in his chest and his guts turning to ice water as he scrubbed his hands and arms clean before heading into the house. When he got there and saw Nathaniel's place void of plate or flatware, a quick look to Ruth was all it needed for her to say, "He's gone out. He said he'd be back later." She patted his arm in her maternal way and passed him the basket of bread rolls for the table, and all he could do was take his seat and try to force down the food provided. He managed it, though he didn't taste a thing, unable to think of anything but Nathaniel out in the world, imagining Gabriel hated him when all he really wanted was Nathaniel in his arms.
The afternoon was spent in much the same way. Solomon declared the planting finished earlier than expected, giving them enough time to clean the tools and tidy everything away before it was time for dinner. Nathaniel's empty seat taunted him to the point he wasn't able to eat much at all. He volunteered to do the dishes and scrub the kitchen down, purely to help take his mind off things. It didn't work very well, and he found himself replaying every word they had said to each other over and over, thinking back to every interaction they'd had as boys, every word his mother had said to him after Reuben's death, looking for something, some indication or guidance or—something. Except there was nothing. Just sore knees, hands that smelled of carbolic, and an empty space in his heart.
There was nothing that could have persuaded him to sit in the parlor with the others and play piquet or even read, so he made his excuses and turned in early. Eunice had left a jug of hot water on his washstand and he took his time to wash the filth of the day off him. It felt good to be clean, not that he minded getting dirty. Seeing the soil under his nails gave him a sense that his day was well spent, but being able to scrub them fresh again made him feel as if he had a second chance, another day to prove his worth.
He dressed for bed in silk pajamas but didn't get into bed. Instead, after listening at the door to make sure the rest of the household weren't lingering nearby, he snuck out and padded down the hallway, lamp in hand.
There was no hesitation as he opened the door to Nathaniel's bedroom although the act of doing so made him rather nauseated. Slipping inside was an act of such utter vulgarity, a breach of etiquette, confidence, and common decen
cy to enter another's room without explicit permission. It was such a hard and fast rule, drummed into him as a child, that even as a man, doing what he knew to be the right thing, he felt awful as he closed the door carefully with a quiet snick.
Part of him didn't want to turn around, and he pressed his forehead to the cool wood of the paneled door for a moment, his eyes closed tight. But when he braved facing up to what he was doing, he was pleasantly surprised. He'd thought perhaps Nathaniel's room might echo the state of his study, but the room was, if anything, sparse and devoid of anything like clutter. Something about it resembled a monk's cell, with no frippery to speak of. The bed was good quality but plain, with the same good sheets as his own. There were sturdy cabinets either side, although only one held a lamp and a book. The washstand was basic, with little sign of pomades or oils that one might expect from a gentleman. The door to the dressing room was ajar and when Gabriel peeked in he was perplexed, then heartsick, to see that Nathaniel only utilized one side of it; the other left open for whomever might become his companion.
There was a desk near the window, strewn with papers and books, and as he drew close, he noticed a cluster of picture frames. They were an assortment of sizes and filled with likenesses of his parents, one of Solomon and Ruth, Priscilla as a child, and another of her more recently, a couple of other people who Gabriel didn't recognize. At the forefront, though, was a small picture in a worn frame, the plating rubbed away at the edges from excessive handling. As he lifted it up, he found himself sinking down into the chair, his legs more unwilling than unable to hold him. It was his own portrait, from a few years before. He remembered the day well, how he'd hated having to sit so still for so long and how he'd hated the resulting photograph, with his hair so lacquered and his expression so serious. The picture was still in his hand hours later when the door to the bedroom opened and Nathaniel walked in.
