by Thomas, Ian
“You–”
Ben lifted his hand, his fingernails changing into savage claws. “–know how to use these? Yes I do. The Cult shouldn’t have gone back on their word.”
Wondering if that was a threat, Jason turned his attention back to the room as Ben’s claws retreated.
“So you here to have a go at me?” Ben asked, moving close to Jason. His back to the fireplace, cornered. “Gonna guilt me with cuteness?”
“Me? No.”
“Then why are you so nervous?” Ben’s hips pressed against Jason.
“Just nervous about being here,” Jason confessed. “I’m a college sophomore, pretty average by most accounts, disastrous at decision making and you’re…what? Like a lot older, lot more experienced.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“I think Eddie said you were over a hundred?”
“A hundred and fifty-three actually. Good ole farm boy from Montana.”
“Good thing I’m legal then,” Jason said with a weak smile. Ben kissed him, a hardness pressing through the towel into Jason’s groin. A very different kiss from the alley. Hotter, longer, and far more assured. Whatever had upset Ben that night, he’d dealt with it and moved on, leaving Jason to feel like a complete amateur. Ben made kissing an art-form.
“I’m glad you came,” Ben whispered in his ear. “I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Like I said, I almost didn’t.”
“And you know this is just physical, right?” Ben asked, pulling back and unbuttoning Jason’s shirt. “Not looking for a relationship.”
“I figured. Little hard to introduce you to my friends when you’ve tried to kill them.”
Ben stopped. He stepped back, has hands by his sides.
“I just wanted someone on my side. Thought you got that?”
“I do. I’m just not liking the bitching about McLachlan so much.”
“That’s not what I want,” Ben said, the version of him from the alley barely hidden below the surface. “I’d just like to be treated like a person again. A friend.”
“But not a boyfriend huh?”
“That a problem?”
Jason looked over Ben’s sculptured torso, remembered his words about not being able to bring Ben to group things, and made his peace with the matter.
“No.”
“Good,” Ben said with a lecherous smile. “Because we can fuck, fool around, whatever. You’re a great guy, Jase, but this is not a date.”
“I know.”
“And I’m bi.” Jason realized Ben was nervous. The idea emboldened him. “There’s a woman. I’m still kinda seeing.”
“Julie?” Jason stripped off his shirt.
“Shit, nothing’s secret with you people,” Ben laughed.
“This is,” Jason replied and pulled the towel away from Ben. Uncharacteristically bold, Jason grabbed Ben behind the neck and pulled him into a kiss.
XXXIII
Try as he might, McLachlan couldn’t completely ignore the chirrups from his phone.
Especially in the crowded subway.
“Bro. Stealth mode. Do it,” Michael said, knees soft as he rode the train like a board.
“Who’s texting you?” Rowan asked.
“Dylan.” McLachlan flicked the phone to silent and glanced at the screen.
Dylan // 21:07
Bro! Come to London!!!
Bring Bex!
Epic fun!!!
Dylan // 21:07
11 photos received
“He’s drinking with his new roommate,” McLachlan said. “And by drinking, I mean really drunk.”
“How’s he doing?” Rowan asked.
“Good, I think. We talk most days which is great, but not sure I’m getting the full picture.”
“How so?”
“Just that he’s had to detangle his life from Julie. Cult aside, that can’t exactly be easy. They were together for a long time.”
“Physically yes,” Rowan said. “Not so sure there was much affection or closeness in that ‘together’ sense.”
“I get that. Feel shitty that he’s had to do all of that on his own when it was all for me in the first place.”
“And because he’s your little brother.”
“That too.” McLachlan smiled as he showed Rowan the photos of Dylan and another guy’s progressive drunkenness amid clusters of young women. “He told me he had a life beyond Julie over there. Guess there’s proof now.”
“I think London should be on alert,” Rowan said. “Couple slabs of beefcake like that on the town? Danger.”
“Let bros be,” Michael said philosophically. “Nature of the bro is to play. Not harm.”
McLachlan showed him a picture of Dylan and two young women, his arm around one while he looked lasciviously at the other.
“Ha,” Michael said, jerking his head back. “Lust is a contact sport.”
“Deep,” Rowan sneered as the train screeched, stopping at the Chambers Street station.
Walking up to the sidewalk, Rowan nestled close to Michael for warmth. McLachlan liked that they had started something. He wouldn’t dare even let the word ‘relationship’ enter his mind. Given how powerful Rowan was, she’d know. The reticence wasn’t hers alone. Michael seemed content not to label them; his typical mindset to anything.
“Are we bad friends?” McLachlan asked as they crossed the street, heading for Matteo’s.
“Dude, you gotta hang up the rosary and bail on your holy homestead,” Michael said, then added. “But if you have to ask…”
“No, but are we?”
“Very high chance of that,” Rowan replied. “Not like we haven’t tried. I’ve called a few times each day. You said you have. Michael?”
“Fer sure, at least once. I think.”
“But we never just turn up, ya know, drag him out of his house and–”
“Force our friendship upon him?” Rowan asked. “Sounds super healthy.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do,” Rowan replied. “But you gotta remember we’re not dealing with some adolescent. Matteo’s not some teenager. Sorry Michael.”
“I’m Mac’s age.”
“I meant dissing your Pack Lord,” Rowan replied, blushing. “But yeah that too.”
“Just seems like the last thing Matteo needed after everything was us getting so involved in our own lives.”
“Oh, I agree with Michael,” Rowan said. “You gotta check the guilt at the door.”
“I just haven’t seen him this bad since you filed for divorce.”
“What?!” both Rowan and Michael asked loudly.
“Uh, other life thing. Never mind. I’ll shut up now.”
“Definitely heading to the chapter house this weekend,” Rowan said aggressively.
“Sorry.” McLachlan felt terrible. The lives just blurred seamlessly. Marrying what he knew as true and false was becoming harder. Apparently Mammon had his own sense of humor.
_ _ _
Death awaited him inside.
Or rather, the dead.
The frozen ground unnoticed beneath his bare feet, Matteo regarded the stable with dread. He knew what was in there, the slaughter staying with him across the centuries, yet he continued forward.
A dream, he thought. I’m home. In bed. Not here, not now. Annah is beside me. Wake up!
Not a dream.
A nightmare.
In truth, a memory.
Copper stung his nostrils. Blood. Bloodline.
Waleran’s blood dripped from Matteo’s hand. The dark mage had fought bitterly. Only through sheer desperation and will, had Matteo survived the magical onslaught. Ultimately, it had been worthwhile. On two counts. Waleran was dead and he knew where Colton was.
Here. In this stable. Isolated in the French countryside.
Wake up damn you, he thought. It’s only a dream. It’s not real. Not anymore. This place happened. It is not happening now. I am home, Matteo railed. I am safe. I’ve locked t
his away.
Inside he heard quiet noises. The scuffling of feet. A struggle. One of them was still alive.
The thought spurred him forward.
Stepping through the door, he saw the massacre. Strong Kwame, blood streaked down his ebony skin. A silver blade driven through his throat into his brain.
Wake up!
Guy lay in a pool of blood, his heart torn from his chest. He’d been trying to protect Falke it seemed. The burly German strung up between two columns, silver nails driven into his hands and heart, half of his head missing. Colton had enjoyed killing those two. Taking his time. Injuring one then the other, all the while taunting them as they suffered.
Roaring awake, Matteo lashed out. His claws slicing through Michael’s coat and across his chest.
“Michael?!” Rowan caught him as he staggered back, blood spilling down his chest.
But Matteo was still coming at him, his face bestial and enraged. McLachlan threw himself between them. Hands grabbing Matteo’s arms as he tried to slice again.
“Whoa there, big fella,” McLachlan called out. “Just a dream. Just. A. Dream.”
He felt his friend deflate, the energy ebbing along with the wolfen features.
“He okay?” McLachlan asked over his shoulder.
“Gonna ask you the same thing.”
“Yeah,” McLachlan said, putting himself in Matteo’s eye line. Eventually the man focused on the face before him and recognition dawned in his brown eyes.
“Mac?” he breathed.
“There you are,” McLachlan said with a smile. “Rowan, update.”
“Peachy,” Michael replied. “Just a reef graze. Nothing to fret over.”
“Says you,” Rowan muttered, going through her bag.
“Did I–” Matteo looked at his hand, unable to finish the sentence.
“He’s all good.” McLachlan edged his friend back to the sofa. “How about we get you something to drink?”
“Yes please,” Rowan said.
“Ditto,” Michael added.
McLachlan went to Matteo’s liquor cabinet. There was less in there than usual, he noted. Finding some whiskey in the back, McLachlan poured three tumblers and handed them around.
“Really? The cheap stuff?” Michael asked.
“Shut up and bleed less.” McLachlan sat in an armchair across from Matteo. Under the coffee table he could make out at least one empty liquor bottle. Another sat by the fireplace. And that didn’t include the three empty peanut butter jars. Oh Matteo was in a bad space. Whiskey was one thing but peanut butter from the jar…
“Michael,” Matteo struggled to say. “I’m sorry.”
“No problem, PL,” Michael called from his position on the floor. “Probably shoulda rang first.”
“What’re you doing sleeping down here?” McLachlan asked, his voice gentle.
“Just…” but Matteo trailed off.
“There,” Rowan said. “The bleeding looks like it’s stopped. Just don’t move. Your healing is working but those cuts are deep.”
“A graze, huh?” Matteo asked, sounding more like himself. “What’re you guys doing here?”
“Checking you were still alive,” Rowan said, tightly. “Which you are. Mac, we can probably go now.”
“We just got here,” McLachlan said puzzled.
“Are you angry?” Matteo looked at her, confused. “At me?”
“Little bit,” she replied, turning on him. “Because Ben turned his back on his friends you thought you would too?”
The room exploded with protests from all present, McLachlan and Michael talking over one another. The only voice Rowan cared about was Matteo’s.
“That what you think?” he asked stunned.
“Am I wrong?”
“Are we just going to keep answering questions with questions?” McLachlan hoped humor would take the edge off.
“Have you asked McLachlan how his back is?” Rowan narrowed her gaze on Matteo. He looked to McLachlan, confusion twisting his face further.
“It’s all good now,” McLachlan said, his face burning. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Ben broke it,” she said flatly. Shocked Matteo moved toward McLachlan, his concern evident. “Threw him off a building.”
“What? How?” Matteo asked.
“Wow, you’re just gonna go all out huh?” McLachlan waved Matteo away, his focus on Rowan. “Wanna get to the part about my sex life?”
“Please don’t,” Michael said, also trying to lighten the mood.
“You stay out of this,” Rowan snapped at Michael as he struggled to get to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Matteo said. “I…” The words seemed to fail him as he looked from McLachlan to Rowan to Michael, now propped up in the doorway. Clearly he was still in pain. Not physical. Worse than that. A wound his wolf healing couldn’t alleviate.
“Thought so,” Rowan said smugly.
“And it harm none, do what thou will,” McLachlan said, his voice firm. Rowan’s expression flashed with anger.
“Don’t you dare quote the Wiccan Rede at me. This is not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing,” McLachlan said, talking over her. “Everything you’re spouting is harmful. May not have any magic behind it, but there’s energy there nonetheless.”
“Rus,” Matteo said. “It’s okay. Rowan has every right to be angry. You all do.”
“Doesn’t mean she can–”
“Yes.” Matteo cut him off but looked at Rowan. “It does. Ben betrayed us all. Not just me. And I went to ground. Some leader I am.”
“You’re not our Pack Lord,” Rowan said, her temper simmering. “We’re not part of your pack.”
“Yes,” McLachlan said, the realization dawning on him. “We are.”
“You deserved better,” Matteo said. “I…”
“Think it’s time we left,” McLachlan said. “We can see you’re…well, about as okay as you’re gonna be.”
He looked to Rowan. Her anger had cooled, though still present. Surprisingly, she gathered up her bag, nodded to Matteo, and walked out of the room past Michael.
“She’ll chill, PL,” Michael said. “Not gonna be today though.”
“Would scare me if she did,” Matteo replied, attempting some levity of his own. “And Michael, I am sorry.”
“All good.” Michael straightened. He went to approach Matteo but winced in pain. Instead Matteo went to him, wrapping him into a gentle hug. Wolves weren’t as ritualistic in their hierarchies the way vampires were. Though to see the peace on Michael’s face, McLachlan saw the gesture had an impact on the wounded wolf.
“Come by tomorrow,” Matteo said. “I’ll call a meeting.”
“Gnarly,” Michael replied. He then turned and left.
“Ben threw you off a building?” Matteo asked.
“You know how much he hated my sarcasm,” McLachlan replied.
“More that you were better at it than him.”
“But he did have brooding down pat.”
“We good?”
McLachlan took a second to reply. He didn’t want to betray Rowan and say yes. He wasn’t a wolf. He didn’t brighten the second the Pack Lord paid him any mind. Shit had gone down and Matteo had all but disappeared. Admittedly, he had more reason than anyone else. But still.
“We’re good if you’re good.”
When Matteo paused, McLachlan had his answer. The man was not good. At all. McLachlan accepted that. He just wasn’t ready to think everything was good with the world – or at last as good as it was going to be with the lives they lived.
“Lot going on up here,” Matteo admitted, gesturing to his head.
“Can help to talk ya know,” McLachlan said.
Matteo laughed. A genuine, warm laugh like he was known for. “I’m sure it is. Just not with you. You’re my best friend and my brother, but not my confidante. Think we both know your brand of humor is a little too caustic for these wounds. And I mean that with love.”
And that was how McLachlan took it. His need to lighten heavy moments often rubbed people the wrong way. Not that he was callous. Humor had always been a huge part of McLachlan’s life growing up. It balanced the dark and took the edge off. Even from Dylan.
“Thanks for coming by though,” Matteo said. He was being dismissed McLachlan realized, startled.
Not until he had left did McLachlan realize his mission had been a failure. Apparently friends didn’t trump fur. Granted, he hadn’t expected Rowan to go all nuclear in there. Still, he figured Matteo would have handled it better. Provoking a response was a good plan. Preferably any other response than mea culpa would have been something to work with at least.
Maybe Dylan’s invite wasn’t a bad idea. With the accords looking to fail, Matteo broken, and Ben on the loose, McLachlan could think of worse places to be than London.
XXXIV
Smoothing his arm across the sheet, Ben realized Jason had gone. He exhaled, relieved.
Not that they hadn’t had fun, he thought, surprised at how…assertive Jason had been. Which was good as a few things had changed since Ben’s last same-sex encounter. The 50s if he recalled rightly.
He had been present-minded enough to notice a similarity between Jason and Julie – first initial notwithstanding. Despite the anatomical differences, both had almost used him. Hardly a complaint, he just found it interesting. The feeling had been mutual. Julie, as she was his way into the Cult to offer up McLachlan in order to save Matteo. A complete disaster as it turned out.
As for Jason…
That was complicated. After the fight with McLachlan Ben knew killing Jason would have hurt them all. Killing Mouth could have been bad. Justifiable in Ben’s mind, but in the bigger picture just another death. Hayley would have been predictable and way too easy. Which left Rebecca. That would’ve only hurt McLachlan and continued the martyrdom he was headed for.
No, Jason was an ideal victim. Directly connected to Eddie and indirectly connected to Matteo and McLachlan.
Problem came when the twink turned out to be a decent human being. Sure, that would have added to the ‘hurt’ factor but Ben wasn’t that brutal. Jason’s tenderness had been more nourishing than any amount of blood or sinew. Thus he lived.
