Nial came forward slowly. “They released you.”
“Yesterday. No, the day before yesterday. That damned sleeper train from London made me lose a day. I hopped on the first train I could get. London was claustrophobic. Scotland was a fabulous idea, Nial. I could smell the fresh air when I got off the train.”
Nial moved closer and now Sebastian could see his face. He hadn’t changed of course, but his hair was shorter than he was used to. He stopped in front of him. Sebastian couldn’t see his blue eyes properly.
“You’re truly home?” Nial asked.
Sebastian grabbed his head and kissed him. He had ached for this kiss, from the moment the Staff Sergeant had handed him his demobilization orders. He took his time with it, tasting Nial and remembering.
Nial groaned and pulled him closer, his hands fisted around the lapels of his new suit, but Sebastian didn’t care. He fumbled at Nial’s shirt buttons, then impatiently yanked the shirt open and started working on the belt of his trousers.
That was when Nial grabbed his wrist, turned and walked up the stairs, leading Sebastian.
The upper floor was all one room, with a big bed under the eaves and dormer windows that punched out through the roof. The last of the day was hovering at the edge of the horizon and in the distance Loch Ness glimmered. It was a grand view.
But Nial pulled him away from the window and stripped him of his clothing, his movements growing more hurried with each passing moment. Sebastian cooperated as much as he could, for he was scrabbling at Nial’s clothing. Their lips met in another kiss that remained unbroken until Nial lowered Sebastian onto the bed.
Nial took him with an explosion of impatience, his cock thrusting with feral wildness and Sebastian welcomed it. Wanted it. His climax came hard on the heels of Nial’s and it seemed to surge up from his toes.
And his heart.
* * * * *
“London is a desperate place, these days,” Sebastian said, staring into the heart of the fire that Nial had stoked when they had come downstairs once more. The main room had two big armchairs that didn’t match, a table that looked as old as the cottage, and two ladder-back chairs that weren’t quite the same vintage as the table. It was comfortable and quiet. Even the traffic on the streets of Inverness had seemed calm in comparison to London.
“The food shortages are terrible,” Sebastian added. “Much worse than during the war, which I didn’t think was possible. Of course, there’s nowhere to live. People are piling up two and three families in a single flat. It’s simply wretched.”
“Italy wasn’t much better,” Nial said quietly. “But we were at least out in the mountains where there was room to move and to think. Then I caught a sniper bullet in front of the Resistenza and had to die for them. That ended the war for me.”
Sebastian nodded. “You didn’t say why you were back in London when I saw you last year. Bad luck, I guess. Although you surprised me by getting involved at all. I didn’t think that was your motto, Nial.”
Nial shifted uneasily on his chair. “Someone dear to me once pointed out that I can’t stay outside of human affairs my whole life, or I’ll stop being human. I decided to take his advice.”
“And have you enjoyed being human?” Sebastian asked.
“It has been a most unpleasant war,” Nial said. “But….” He sighed. “It felt good to be fighting for something worthwhile, to fight to protect the children and the helpless ones.”
“Until you stopped a sniper bullet with your teeth,” Sebastian teased him.
Nial grinned. It was a quick expression, but genuine and Sebastian was pleased to see it. Nial’s mood had been off since he had arrived, but he knew there was no point in digging for answers. Nial would tell him in his own time, or he wouldn’t.
Sebastian sighed and looked around the room. It was so good to be home. “I like this place, Nial. It’s peaceful. And large.” He grinned and crossed his slippered feet on top of the footstool. They were Nial’s slippers and Nial’s gown, for he owned none of his own. He had been sleeping in regimental underwear for the last nine years and had been happy to leave it all behind in the cramped flat he had been sharing with four other men.
“It’s not luxurious,” Nial said, “but I think luxury should be absent for a while. We can’t draw attention to ourselves like that when everyone is suffering so.”
Sebastian nodded. “I think I could hide out here for a bit, while we decide what to do next. Do you have any ideas?”
Nial shifted again on his chair. “I have a few,” he said slowly. “But first, there is something I must tell you. A confession, I suppose.”
Sebastian didn’t move, but he could feel his vampire perceptions starting up. The extra degree of alertness made everything seem crisp and very clear. “What have you done?”
“Do you remember…well, of course you remember,” Nial began. “When you took that shot in the leg, in the Cévennes hills?”
“As you say, of course I remember,” Sebastian said stiffly. Why wasn’t Nial getting straight to the point? It was unlike him to beat around the bush like this. “I remember the whole ghastly mess.” He’d had a devil of a time explaining to the field doctor exactly how he had healed so swiftly, and for a week he had been forced to re-wound himself for daily inspections, and limp around with a crutch for weeks, as he “recovered”. Even then he had caught the doctor and his CO looking at him oddly. When four of his battalion members had cornered him in a dark, lonely blind canyon a few nights later, and beaten him to what they thought was a senseless pulp, he had finally understood that while his differences weren’t fully understood by his battalion, they were unwelcome. He had been marked.
Knowing that asking for a transfer out of the battalion would more than likely put him right at the front, amongst the fiercest fighting, Sebastian knew he couldn’t stay. No one was more surprised that him when his orders came through. London, in a hush-hush department no one knew existed.
“I spent the rest of the war warming my toes by the fire while I read Russian and German newspapers and magazine, and flagged anything that looked rum,” Sebastian said.
“Is that what you were doing?” Nial asked. “I didn’t know, of course.”
“No one did. Reading was apparently a high security activity.” Sebastian shrugged. “Someone had to do it. It made life a lot simpler, not having to explain away a lack of wounds.”
“I’m glad of that,” Nial said quietly.
“So what is it about France?” Sebastian asked. “Have you been up to your old ways?” he asked lightly, for Nial had off-loaded his con artist habits a long time ago. Apart from the fact that they were living together in an age when it was illegal for men to have relationships with other men, they were model citizens. They even paid taxes.
Nial drew in a sharp breath in reaction and Sebastian felt a small touch of alarm. “What is it?” he demanded. “You’ve been subdued since I got here, and now you just jumped like you’d stepped on a mine.”
“Your orders,” Nial said heavily. “The posting in London.” He drew in another breath that Sebastian could hear. “That was me.”
Cold gripped Sebastian’s chest. He sat up, trying to process that Nial really had…. “What did you do, exactly?” Sebastian asked. Even his lips felt thick and uncooperative.
Now it was out, Nial was sitting back in his chair, looking calm and controlled like he always did, but Sebastian could hear his heart thudding. He wasn’t as placid as he looked. Nial gave a small shrug. “A small bribe here, a touch of blackmail. It was an easy matter to arrange, especially when the Colonel saw your record and heard about your language talents. He was eager to have you.”
For a moment, the cold seemed to spread through him, holding everything in stasis. Sebastian got to his feet. “You arranged my posting.”
Nial looked up at him. “As you said, it worked out for the best. You couldn’t go through the war pretending to be wounded and dying every other month. They would have caught
up with you within weeks. The allies’ intelligence machine worked very well, and you popping up all over Europe under different names would have branded you as a spy, especially with your coloring.”
“So you arbitrarily decided that I would be better off in a cushy posting in London and just…arranged it.” Finally, Sebastian could feel something. Pure rage. “We’ve spent years arguing about why you can’t just manipulate my life to suit you. Idiot me, I thought you finally had mended your ways.” He stepped around the chair and away from the fire, heading for the door.
“Sebastian, wait,” Nial said from behind. “You have to understand. This was a one-time exception. They were extraordinary circumstances.”
“No, they were not,” Sebastian spat, spinning to face him again. “Thanks to your meddling a hundred years ago, my life is going to last for the foreseeable future. There are always going to be wars. Crises of one kind or another. You mean this one-time exception was for these extraordinary circumstances. Next time there’s an event, you’ll manage my life, make decisions for me, and give me the same damned excuse.”
Nial got to his feet. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I told you what I did. I didn’t lie about it. I could have stayed silent and you would never have known. But you’ve influenced me that much, Bastian. I couldn’t let the lie stay between us.”
“Don’t call me that,” Sebastian breathed. He tried to see this from Nial’s point of view. He tried to be fair. Nial was always worrying about him, fearing his lack of centuries of experience would make him vulnerable if he didn’t watch over him. “Why?” Sebastian said at last. “Why even do it, if you knew I would hate you for it?”
“Hate?” Nial seemed to choke over the word. Then he said quietly, “They were such desperate times. I forgot, Sebastian. In the heat of the moment, I simply forgot. I could see a way to get you out of the arena, so I did it. Don’t hate me for that.”
Sebastian removed the gown and stepped out of the slippers. Naked, he turned to the door. “I need to think about this,” he said woodenly, and went upstairs to stare out the window at the loch shining silvery in the moonlight.
* * * * *
Nial heard Sebastian moving overhead, as the first streaks of dawn were showing in the sky, and his heart began to beat by itself. Sebastian hadn’t moved from the window the entire night. Now he was moving. He had reached a decision.
He opened the door a few minutes later and stepped into the room. Nial held himself still, holding back his reaction, for Sebastian was in his suit and had his hat in his hand.
Sebastian looked down at his suit, then up at Nial. “I suppose it must be obvious I’m not staying.”
Nial took a step forward, and managed to bring himself to a halt. “Is there anything I can say, anything I can do that will change your mind?”
Sebastian sighed. “There are a thousand things you could do or say that would make me reconsider, but every time I do that, I come back to one basic fact. You won’t change, Nial. You won’t let me live my life.”
“I did it for you.” It was the truth, but it was a useless truth. Nial curled his hands into fists and made himself stay still. There was nothing else to say. Sebastian knew him so well, he had probably thought of every argument and counter argument before he came downstairs.
“Where will you go?” Nial asked. “You have no money, not even luggage.”
“That’s a place I’ve been in before,” Sebastian reminded him. “Many times.”
“Sebastian, please. I can’t keep you from leaving, but at least give me some reassurance that you will be…safe.”
Sebastian gave him a smile that was more of a grimace. “I’ll draw on my reserves. Enough to get by until I have set up an income stream. I don’t know what, yet. I don’t even know where I’ll be.” He opened the door once more, and hesitated.
Nial tried to calm his heart, which was dashing itself against his chest as hope flared.
Sebastian turned and looked at him. “Have a telephone installed, Nial.”
“Why?”
“I might want to call.”
He shut the door behind him, as Nial sank back into the chair, waves of despair and hope rushing through him.
* * * * *
San Francisco, 1954
Sebastian rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed, his feet on the cold floor beneath. He glanced over his shoulder. There was a man and a woman on the big, rickety bed, and he didn’t know either of them. They were both naked.
So was he.
“God damn it,” he whispered and reached for his pants. They were lying on the floor close to the foot of the bed. He was fastening them when the man stirred and stretched, and sat up.
“Hey,” the man said. “You’re leaving?”
“I have to go to work,” Sebastian lied.
“You’ve got a job? That’s where you got all the dough for the drinks last night. Lucky bastard.”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Sebastian said, and pulled on his shirt. The suit jacket, thank god, was hanging over the back of the single chair in the room. Crooked, but at least it wasn’t pooled on the floor like his pants. He threw it on and pushed his tie into the pocket. He’d deal with that later.
“You’re not even going to wait to say goodbye to Carla?” the man asked, sounding aggrieved.
Carla. That was her name. Sebastian saw that the woman was stirring, roused by the man’s chatter. She wasn’t a true redhead, but by the time the pair of them had stripped Sebastian of his clothes and dropped to their knees on either side of him, he had stopped caring.
“Goodbye,” Sebastian told her, and shut the door behind him.
* * * * *
There was a diner serving breakfast on the corner and Sebastian ordered a coffee and pretended to sip it, so that he could sit alone at a booth and think. From the glances of the other customers, he suspected they thought he was recovering from a hangover. The lack of a tie and his seedy, wrinkled appearance made it look that way.
He rested his chin on his fist and watched the world walk past the window. In many ways, it felt like he had been on a binge. He couldn’t drink, although it would have simplified things if he could. Instead, he had been over-indulging in the one thing he could do; sex, with whomever and whatever he could.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had been home to the little apartment on Ashbury Street. If he’d had a cat or a plant, they would have perished by now. There was no need to go home when beds were easy to find somewhere else—beds that weren’t empty.
It had never occurred to Sebastian that anyone would find him attractive, not until he settled in San Francisco and started visiting bars simply as a way to pass the time. When he received three discreet propositions on the same night, he had fallen into the sink hole he had just walked out of. Women with good reputations would never been seen in such bars, and he couldn’t be bothered dealing with the protracted courtship and marriage that would be required to find one. Instead, he fucked anyone who asked. Sometimes, three or four different partners in a night. He could catch none of the social diseases, and the women he had sex with wouldn’t conceive from his cum.
It had become almost like being drunk, Sebastian suspected. He couldn’t properly remember the last few weeks. Longer than that, really. It wasn’t that he had forgotten. He didn’t want to remember. Any of them. The people he had screwed were a long, blurred line of faces and bodies.
He had sat up this morning, for the first time alert and aware, looked at the middle-aged couple he had spent the long night hours with, and wondered why he was there.
Time for truth, Bastian, he told himself.
There was a Bell Telephone Company pay phone at the back of the diner. Sebastian dug out all his spare change, settled himself in front of the phone and dialed zero. “I’d like to place a long distance call,” he told the operator with the sweet voice that answered, “but I don’t know the number. Can you look it up for me?”
* *
* * *
Nial could hear his phone ringing from down the road and put on a spurt of speed – not enough to call attention to himself, but faster than he normally allowed himself. It could be anyone, he told himself. It was about one in the afternoon and as more and more residents of Inverness installed telephones, calls became more frequent and letters fewer. He was on three different boards and four committees. The card club where he kept his hand in with some light fleecing every now and again thought he was an upstanding member – most of his so-called social life originated with club members…and their wives. Why he should suddenly think that Sebastian might call after five years was beyond ken.
He knew he was going to miss the call before he got the key into the lock. The telephone fell silent as he stepped inside.
Nial sighed and tossed his coat over the wing chair. There was no one around to tell him to hang it up.
Then the phone rang again, and he jumped, startled, for he was standing right next to it. He picked it up, fumbling, which told him much about his state. Don’t get your hopes up.
“Donaldson residence,” he said cautiously.
The line crackled and buzzed. “This is the United States calling.” The woman had a strong Yankee accent. “I have a person to person call from Sebastian Worthington to Nathanial Aquila.” She garbled the pronunciation of his last name.
Sebastian, you’re letting down your guard again, Nial mentally chided him. Aquila was not the name he was using now, and he doubted Sebastian was using his real name either. But at the same time, he was smiling. “That is me,” he said. “I’ll accept the call.”
“Go ahead,” the operator said, and there was a click as she connected the call.
“Nial?” It was Sebastian’s voice.
Nial rested his head against the wall. Relief and happiness were making him feel light headed. He couldn’t control his heart. It had slipped free. “Bastian,” he breathed.
Sebastian made a sound. It might have been a choking sound. The line was distorting sound. “I…” He hesitated. “I miss you.”
Amor Meus Page 11
