To everyone’s surprise, Wren opted to stay in the room with Desmond and they were both dead to the world since the sun had come up thirty minutes ago. But Ash… Tristan couldn’t be sure, but he swore he heard her moving around upstairs in their room despite the sun. She’d shown her hand with that particular trick just before they left Japan. And while Innokentiy seemed to feel worst the longer he fought the sun, Ash seemed to even out and feel better eventually. Hell, maybe she might even be up when he got a chance to finally trudge up the stairs. Pythia knew they had a lot to talk about.
Tristan sighed from his place leaning on the center island and looked up as the last fire truck grumbled down the long driveway. “I really owe you.”
The fae stood, looking a little unsteady and waved him off. The box of cookies he put down sounded empty too. “Not at all, it was my pleasure. Hell, it was lucky the occupancy permit went through yesterday, or we’d all be in trouble.” He let out a puff of breath. “Okay. I’m going to head back over to the other house and clean up the mess there before I go to the airport; I’m to report back to Japan.”
“Whoa, whoa whoa.” Tristan rushed over and stopped the fae on his way to the front door. “You can’t drive like this, especially not piolet a plane across the world. You’re exhausted.”
Lance shrugged tiredly. “I have to go back and I’m already late. Orders…”
Tristan huffed and checked the time. Yuki should be awake. “No. You’re going to get yourself killed. Let me call Yuki and talk to her, explain what happened. You go upstairs and sleep. I’ve got an… appointment today and then I wanted to get some things from my parent’s house anyway. I’ll clean up, you stay here.”
The fae frowned but nodded his acceptance, looking relieved. “I appreciate it. Uh, Master’s number is already in your phone.”
He figured as much and nodded.
“Really, thank you.”
Tristan slapped a hand on the smaller man’s back, making him cough in surprise, and smiled. “Go on, get some sleep. I have a feeling we have a long night coming up.”
He watched the fae disappear upstairs and into the bedroom directly over the TV room. Alone finally, he let out a deep sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands and then rubbed them through his hair. He smelled bad, felt slimy and was beyond tired, but instead of going upstairs and getting in the shower he grabbed the keys to the van off the counter and left, locking the front door behind him. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t need to get back inside until everyone was awake again; he had a lot to do today. Too bad sleep wasn’t on the list.
SON of a bitch asshole!” Tristan jerked his face away from the oil that was about to drip on him and while it missed his eyes, it still landed on his cheek, almost into his mouth.
There was giggle from somewhere and he flinched, smacking his head on the undercarriage. “Fuck!”
“Brings back memories.”
Yeah, he was usually frustrated with the car, but he was too distracted to even blame it on the work. His head really fucking hurt, and it had nothing to do with the knock he took a second ago.
Tristan pushed himself out from under his old car and wiped at the oil from his face. “Hey, G. What’s up?”
“Nutin’,” she said rocking on her heels with her hands in her pockets. She looked fresh out of the shower with her thick red curls matted down to something more manageable, her porcelain complexion shining with a fresh coat of lotion. “Saw the garage open and wanted to see what you were up to, maybe invite you over for dinner…”
Tristan sighed, unable to look her in the eye as he stood and put his back to her, grabbing the bag that had new oil and a filter in it from the bench. “I don’t know that today’s a good day.” He still hadn’t napped yet and being up all night was really wearing him thin. The time change didn’t help anything. He was beyond tired but wired all the same. When he crashed it was going to be nasty. It was no wonder he had a mammoth headache.
Gillian was quiet and Tristan turned to look at her. She was silently frowning at him, taking in his less-than-clean appearance. It was nothing new, for her to see him covered in car grease, but some of the dirt was from the fire and she seemed to realize it.
“Are you still angry?”
He started. “What—no. I’m…” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. Dammit, his head hurt. At first he thought it was just an exhaustion headache, but now he was starting to have a sick feeling it was something more serious as the ache deepened throughout the morning, made his neck ache. “I really do have a lot going on right now. I just got back and there’s the house to deal with and Ash, and I’ve got a friend staying with me at my new place… It’s just a mess right now.”
“Lance?”
“Uh,” Tristan said thinking, which was fucking hard to do with this raging headache. He was sure it was getting worse by the minute. He forced a smile he wasn’t feeling. “Yeah, the weird dude Eric met.”
Gillian smiled too but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re different,” she said softly as if saying it louder would make it fact and she didn’t want it to be.
“I… Yeah, I am.” He was distracted, fighting hard to make his feelings apparent in his words. But there was an alien inside his head trying to bore itself out. That had to be it; why else would his head hurt so damn much? His whole body had broken out into a sweat despite the cooler day and his muscles started to tremble. His heart was racing, setting a deep pain in his chest.
He reached out to hold himself up against the workbench. “But you’re still my best friend, even if I’m not yours anymore.”
It sounded lame, but it meant something and Gillian smiled that sad smile again and came up to him. She took the rag from his clenched fist and used it to wipe at the oil on his face. “I love you no matter who you are, Tristan.”
He smiled against the pain expanding in his skull. “I know, G. I love you too, you know.”
She nodded, looking away. “Eric, he…”
Tristan gulped as a white-hot pain shot through his brain, bringing him to his knees.
“Tristan?” Gillian gasped, reaching for him. “Are you okay? Tristan, talk to me.”
He wanted to, he really did, but he could barely breathe. His lungs wouldn’t pull in any more air, as if the air was too thick, too heavy. Gillian was talking to him still; he could see her lips moving, the panic in her eyes through the fog of his vision. Without meaning to, he shut is eyes and the world changed. He saw places he’d been as clearly as if he were standing there now.
It was France. He was in that fucking dungeon again, watching Lucien torture Ash. The despair was choking. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save himself. They were going to die.
Sebastian was whipping him. The fae was angry, so very angry. And it had more to do with politics than the fact that Tristan called him an elf again. The fae was being used, he knew he was, but he was unable, no worse, unwilling to break free from it. So, he took that anger out on Tristan’s prone body.
Tristan tried to get the fae to knock him out, and he nearly had, but on the last twilight of consciousness, he remembered feeling the scrape of stone against his cheek, of hot hands on his ass, parting him and then the worst pain burning into him. Oh, the humiliation he felt at the violation. He wanted to fight, curse, rail against the fae but he was locked in a body that could no longer move.
Sebastian was screaming in French at him as he pushed himself into Tristan. His body fought on instinct, but it wasn’t enough to stop the defilement. In his mind, Tristan screamed and screamed as the pain paralyzed his whole body and with the only bit of conscious strength he had, he uttered those words again.
“Elf,” he’d called him and Sebastian, the angry fae that he was, hit him one last time.
Tristan wheezed in new breath. He felt the concrete of garage floor under his knees. He was back in the now, conscious of the concerned face staring down at him. She was talking to him, but still, he couldn’t hear her. Only a r
oar of incoherent voices all talking to him.
Make them stop. Make the memories stop!
He couldn’t be sure if he said the words aloud, just that it was the only thing he could think: Make. It. Stop.
Gillian tried to help him to his feet and he got one knee off the ground but was crippled again by another rush of visions. His sinuses, they stung with the stink of burnt flesh and hair. Ash... She was in his arms. She was dead. He was sure of it, felt it.
Lucien was laughing, making some rude comment about her unexpected death. Tristan was so angry and utterly devastated. He made a decision then, a decision to do something that might mean the end of the man he thought he was. But what did it matter when the only person in the world he loved was now dead? What else was there to live for?
He cut into Ash’s wrist and drank her blood. He did it because of Yuki, she put the thought in his head in Japan. That’s right, it was there, just below the membrane that held the subconscious back, she slipped him a few precious drops of her blood and whispered promises of power. Power he needed to kill a vampire.
Lucien was smart enough to be afraid. He saw his death in the soul of the monster looking at him through dark blue eyes.
“Do you fear a Beautiful Death?” Tristan had asked the damned vampire, feeling alien in his own body.
Ah, the taste of fear as it permeated his flesh in a tingling wave. The rush of anger, the need for justice that pushed him to bend to the will of the thing living inside him, the monster, his vampire. The monster was no longer whispering to him, it was roaring in his face, demanding to be fed. And so, he submitted and drank down Lucien’s blood. The ecstasy of the feed, it was like nothing he’d ever felt.
The memory of feeling whole left an ache in his chest as he started to feel his conscious self again. He wasn’t in that dungeon in France with vampire blood in his belly, seeping into his organs and veins. That’s right, he was home again, the place he grew up, the place he knew love and compassion, the place where death had no hold until that terrible night a year and a half ago.
“Gillian,” he rasped out. “I’m…” He had to stop to swallow back a sob. “I’m okay. I just, I need a minute.”
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble to call 911.”
He grabbed her when it looked like she was going to take his cell phone sitting on the bench. “Please don’t. I promise, I’m really okay.”
She pouted at him but nodded. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
Nodding, he stumbled to his feet. His whole body was heavy, his muscles ached as if he’d just run a marathon. The two were quiet as Gillian slowly guided him into the basement through the garage and up the flight of steps to the main floor. She directed him to the sitting room and then disappeared into the kitchen.
He couldn’t see her, but could imagine the look on her face at the little noise she just made at seeing the mess in the kitchen. He thought he heard her mutter “men” too, but couldn’t be sure. A moment later she was sitting down next to him, close despite how filthy he was and pushed a glass of water into his hand.
“Thanks,” he whispered, barely able to speak. It was the rush of memories, they were choking him. He remembered everything that happened in that fucking dungeon. He remembered being raped by the fae, the pain and humiliation of it. He remembered how he saved Ash and how he felt when he was doing it. And, he remembered hearing Yuki and Ash talking in the hotel after they returned. He remembered everything.
Everything.
He shut his eyes and lowered his head to his chest, laughing softly. It worked. It fucking worked, that goddamned memory spell he took. It just took longer to work on him, the abomination.
“Tristan?” Gillian asked gently, placing a hand on his back.
He shook his head. “I can only imagine what this looks like to you.”
She said nothing and when he looked up she was inches away, frowning at him with tears in her eyes. “Are you high?”
He almost laughed. Almost.
“No, I’m really not. I haven’t touched anything in…” He sighed, thinking. He really couldn’t remember the last time he got high. “A while. And I haven’t had a drink in two days and I don’t drink even half of what I did before…”
She didn’t look convinced and he smiled warmly at her.
“I promise. I’m okay now.”
He didn’t even know how to excuse the incident to her, but thankfully she didn’t persist. She just nodded, relaxing as she took his words at face value. It helped that it was the truth.
He bumped her forehead with his and then sat back smiling at her. “You said something about dinner?”
Looking happy to give in to the distraction, Gillian smiled. “Oh right, um, yeah. Mom and Dad are back from their trip today. I know they would love to see you again. I’ve got the biggest brisket I could find in the slow-cooker with some yuuu-mmy vegies soon to follow… And my own special cobbler.”
“Ah,” Tristan grumbled with a huge smile. “Corned beef and cabbage, my kryptonite. You’re just evil.”
Her smile softened into something less worried and genuinely happy. “Yep. So, two more place settings?”
Ugh. Ash.
“Shit, G. No, I’m sorry. Actually,” He stood and leaned to look into the kitchen at the microwave. “I’ve got an appointment in Annapolis soon and I need to shower still.” Never mind finish changing the oil in his car. “Then I’ve got someone coming to house I have to meet, at my new place.” Okay, so the last was a half-truth. Dammit, he hated lying. “Maybe if I’ve got time, but I wouldn’t count us in.”
Gillian stood. “I understand. Well, how about we pick a day that’s good, plan ahead. You bring… Asta, was it? And I’ll bring dinner. Your place or mine. Your choice.”
He smiled and kissed her quickly on the cheek. “Sounds good. Can I call you later? I’ll know our schedule later a little more clearly.” Problem was, he really did want nothing more than to say fuck it to everything and just go over to the Thompson’s and sit down and have a civil meal with his pseudo family. There was far too much shit happening right now to even consider it.
“Sure thing.” She fidgeted nervously before giving his arm a tiny punch. “Hey, it’s really great you’re back.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling with a sadness in his eyes he couldn’t hide. “I’ll talk to you later, G.” She hesitated and he added, “I promise. No more disappearing. I won’t abandon you again.”
She sniffled and then put on a sassy grin. “Geez, no need to get so emotional.”
He laughed and she playfully punched his arm as she passed by him on the way out. “See you later, alligator,” she called out from the front door before it slammed shut.
“After a while, crocodile,” he whispered to the empty room. It was their thing as children, Tristan had all but forgotten until that moment.
He blinked once and then in a daze went to his room and stripped off his dirty clothes. He must have been standing in the shower, staring off at nothing, unmoving for fifteen minutes before the first sob burst out of him. The rest came unhindered. He didn’t fight it and ended up cowering in the corner of the shower, feeling vulnerable in a way he’d never felt before in his life.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to remember, but then, being the reckless idiot he was, had to go and drink a memory potion. What did he think would happen? It did exactly what Wren predicted. Tristan let himself believe that it only worked on spelled memories and not vampire-fucked memories. Maybe he hoped it would. Maybe, despite telling Ash over and over that he didn’t want to know what he’d lost, he really did. Now he wished that he really meant those things.
10: Sitting With the Dog
TRISTAN was late. Part of him thought, fuck it, the prick can fucking wait. But the other part, the sensible side, whispered, what if he had left, how will you save Desmond then? He really didn’t want to be doing this, especially since no one knew he was here, but he was kind of forced into it now, wasn
’t he?
To his surprise, after yelling every curse word he knew, his old VW started. He was relieved he didn’t have to drive that junky rental van with its shitty radio all the way into Eastport. More than that, his car had some pretty happy memories tied to it. Damn thing was broken more than not and his dad often helped him to get it running again. There may have been a girl or two that also came to mind when he thought of how the back seats folded down flat.
Tristan shut off the car and glared behind sunglasses at the blond man sitting on the other side of the large plate-glass window before him. “Kiba” he had signed the note. Japanese for “fang”. Fucking cute.
He looked the same as when Tristan met him last night, only this time his band tee-shirt was short sleeved, showing off some ripped arms covered in heavy tribal tattoos. The jewelry was all still there, leather cuffs and a leather collar that looked more rock than bondage, ears lined in silver hoops and studs.
Seemed like a pretty laid-back guy, in human form anyway. The memory of the great blond wolf was all too fresh on his mind. Actually, it was the big jaw filled with sharp teeth bared at him that made a real impression.
He really didn’t have the time for this, or the patience. Having that spell activate on him just over an hour ago was definitely leaving him distracted. And in his world, distraction invariably meant death. For him, probably not quick and easy either.
Tristan huffed and got out of the car. When the car door slammed shut, Kiba looked up, smiled big and waved.
“I’m on a date with a fucking werewolf,” he muttered, refusing to wave back.
He passed the hostess with a little smile and approached the table with a cautious step, putting the table between him and the wolf in man’s clothing.
Kiba looked up and smiled around his beer. “Wasn’t sure you were coming.” He nodded at the four empty bottles on the table. “Ordered for you too, but I drank it. Sit.”
Primal Burdens: (The Uruwashi Series #5) Page 11
