by M. A. Grant
“Sorry,” Cristian said.
Atlas could just make out the tips of fangs as he spoke, enough to need a moment to breathe, to remind himself who he was with. Apparently, that was too long, because Cristian stepped back, putting space between them. Shit, he could probably smell the flash of fear Atlas had fought down. Hopefully he’d also smell how that fear was gone now.
Cristian’s lips were full, wet and shining in the moonlight. Atlas flicked his gaze higher, tracking the way he dragged a hand through his tousled hair, trying to set it to rights. “Are you okay? I wasn’t trying to—”
“I know,” Atlas assured him. “I’m fine.”
His pulse slowed and the haze of need faded. Every moment he didn’t have the distraction of Cristian’s body under his hands made it easier to pull back.
The lopsided smile Cristian offered him couldn’t distract from the apology and regret in his eyes. “We should make sure nothing else has passed through the area,” he said.
“We should,” Atlas agreed. He let Cristian walk away first, taking the moment’s respite to adjust his clothes and try to clear his mind from the want still coursing through him, a current he couldn’t fight free of.
Their search was an exercise in futility. There were old tracks, scuffed and scraped about by vampires or humans or animals who had explored the area after. They found some claw marks gouged into the masonry of one of the warehouses, but an exploration amidst the piles of industrial junk inside revealed no nest, no signs of feeding, nothing except a patrol of the area. He should have been relieved to find such limited signs of the strigoi’s presence. But controlled behavior didn’t fit his memories of the Romanian attack, and ended up putting him further on edge.
Cristian, of course, noticed on their way back to the car. “There’s no point worrying over it now,” Cristian said. “All we can do is keep checking in.”
“That’s not enough,” Atlas argued, all his frustration over their broken kiss, the strigoi, and his battling between guilt and desire, sparking under his skin. “They’re at risk—”
“Far less than us,” Cristian said calmly. “You saw the prints, just like I did. It wandered through and out when it didn’t find any easy prey. Nell and the others are safe inside that building. We are the fools walking around outside.”
“Goddamn it,” Atlas grumbled. He dug in his pocket for the keys and unlocked the car so he could swing open the rear door. “Get in.”
Cristian hesitated, then sighed, then slid into the backseat. He waited for Atlas to take the driver’s seat and start the car before saying, “You should try to use please. Don’t think I’ll start obeying all your orders, Mr. Kinkaid.”
“Why’d you obey that one?”
“Because I’m fond of you,” Cristian said drily. “And because anyone with half a brain can see you’re spiraling. I can’t decide if it’s because of the strigoi, or because of us.”
“There is no us,” Atlas said on reflex. He winced. Considering the slightly swollen nick in his lip and the fact that he now knew what Cristian tasted like, it wouldn’t take much for Cristian to decimate the lie. He braced himself for the verbal onslaught.
“Fine.”
Atlas blinked and turned around in his seat, stunned by Cristian’s easy surrender. “What? No arguments? No attempts to convince me otherwise?”
Cristian made a face. “What would the point be? Friends or lovers, you’d still be in my life. And, maybe, years from now, you decide to give us a shot.”
Cristian spoke as if the span of time was inconsequential. Atlas, so familiar with restraint, struggled to imagine the discipline that would require. He tried to brush it off with a joking, “Come on, Mr. Slava, you would wait that long on the chance I may change my mind?”
His obvious doubt made the attempted humor fall flat, and he expected Cristian to be offended. Instead, it drew a genuine smile to the other man’s face. “Why does that surprise you? No matter what you may believe, you are worth waiting for, Atlas.”
He wasn’t prepared for a gentle admonishment over his questionable views of self-worth. He wasn’t prepared for the steadiness in Cristian’s voice, his gaze, his conviction. He wasn’t prepared to be so known.
There was only one way to respond. He focused on driving them home. Cristian gave him the space and silence to process. Back at the mansion, he let Atlas park and exit the car first. He waited patiently while Atlas paced beside the car, tugged at his cuffs, and finally opened the door for him. He climbed out gracefully, barely leaning into Atlas’s space, but it was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
Cristian smiled and tugged the car door free from Atlas’s grip so he could close it. Behind him, the front door of the house opened and Andrei stepped out, looking even dourer than usual. “Cristian,” he called, “your father would like a word.”
“Coming,” Cristian called back.
The car blocked most of their bodies from Andrei’s view and Cristian mercilessly used it to his advantage. He slid past Atlas, brushing his fingers down his arm on the way. His fingertips caressed Atlas’s knuckles, flitting lightly over the scarred skin. The unexpected touch was more than a momentary goodbye. It felt...private. Decadent. He wanted to reach back and held himself in check through sheer force of will.
Cristian’s smile grew wider and he laughed. “See you in a minute,” he promised.
Andrei’s lecture began as soon as he was in range and continued all the way into the house. Alone in the quiet outside, Atlas released a shaky breath, tilted his head back, and lost himself in the stars overhead. The vastness of the night sky, the scent of chamomile, and the terrifying possibility Cristian had offered hung over and around and within him. He stood and let those things grow, even though it meant his world would never be quite the same. Minutes passed. Workers passed. Some of his doubts and fears passed. And when the door opened again and he heard Cristian’s teasing voice calling him in to join the meeting, he was willing to obey.
Chapter Seventeen
He followed Cristian up the familiar path to Decebal’s study, trying to rein himself and his emotions back in. He wasn’t sure if Decebal could read his scent the same way Cristian could, but it was a risk he had no desire to take.
The door to the study was open, revealing Decebal and Helias talking in hushed tones over some documents. The moment he spotted Atlas, Decebal dropped the conversation with his consilier.
“Mr. Vladislavic,” Atlas said, noting the way Cristian didn’t bother to close the door behind him.
“We are balancing our schedules,” Decebal said, “and wanted your perspective.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but cautiously offered, “I’ll do what I can.”
“Mr. Vladislavic’s travel will increase over the next few weeks, which means Mr. Slava will be running his meetings for the time being,” Helias said as he slid a document to Atlas.
The page was filled with several neat columns of meeting dates and times over the next few weeks. The list also included each meeting’s location. They were all local addresses, at least. Atlas recognized several as clinics Cristian had visited before, and assumed the rest would be other businesses in Decebal’s empire.
It was a daunting reminder of Decebal’s complicated duties within his territory. Atlas was overwhelmed and he only had to drive from meeting to meeting. He couldn’t imagine how Cristian was feeling about this sudden, drastic change in their usual routine. And as much as he wanted to ask, it would be unprofessional to take such a liberty in front of their current audience.
“Are all these meetings set already?” Atlas asked Helias instead, trying to figure out how much wiggle room Cristian’s schedule could have.
“Some could be moved or rearranged,” Helias said, “though the fewer changes we need to make, the better. Do you see any issues?”
Atlas pointed at two of the meeting
s on the page. “It would be difficult to drive between these locations with those meeting times,” he warned. “And if anything runs over, we’d definitely be late.”
“Are there any other conflicts you can see?” Decebal asked while Helias wrote something on his copy of the schedule.
Atlas scanned the page again, offering his feedback about interrupted lines of travel, or nights when they’d burn too much time doubling back and forth across Scarsdale. Helias took diligent notes on all his comments, and Decebal leaned back in his chair, watching Atlas work with something akin to pride on his face. Cristian didn’t speak up once, content to sit near the window and watch. When Atlas finished, Decebal looked to Cristian and waved a hand in Atlas’s direction.
“You see?” the man asked his son. “Your success hinges on the ability of those working with you. You complain about meetings, but this is why they matter. If you take them seriously and invite the correct people, your work is lessened. You will have more freedom to spend on other projects.” Decebal tapped the schedule in front of Atlas with his finger emphatically. “But you do the real work first, yes?”
“Yes, Father,” Cristian agreed quietly.
Decebal looked like he wanted to add something else, but Helias managed to divert the conversation by telling Atlas, “Once I make these changes, I’ll be sure to give you the updated schedule.”
“Thank you,” Atlas said, awkwardly aware of the rising tension in the room. He felt like he’d stepped into an old argument, one he didn’t want to listen in on. More importantly, one he didn’t want to be used in, especially if Decebal saw fit to use him against Cristian. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
“No,” Cristian told him. “Father and I have further business to discuss. I’ll find you later.”
It was an obvious out and he took it unhesitatingly. He abandoned the study and wandered back downstairs to wait. The rest of Cristian’s group was in the billiards room. To pass the time, he attempted to unseat Vasilica from her champion’s throne. She wiped the floor with him twice before he gave up and handed the cue back to Ioana.
He watched Vasilica and Ioana’s battle royale for a bit before he caught the tap of footsteps coming down the stairs. Cristian entered the room just as he turned to the door, and Atlas wished he could risk reaching out to him.
The last part of the meeting with Decebal had clearly put Cristian through the wringer. Exhaustion tugged down the corners of his mouth, despite his weary smile to the group. He rubbed the back of his neck, a move Atlas knew well because he did it too when his headaches flared up.
“How’d it go?” Andrei asked, voicing the question Atlas couldn’t.
“I’ll be stuck here while he travels,” Cristian warned. “There’ll be individual meetings with every clinic. The hospital board wants me to attend the presentation on the proposed lab and storage expansion. And don’t get me started on the new inventory programs Helias and I have to learn.” He shook his head. “All work, and no play.”
“For how long?” Dinu asked.
“The next couple of weeks,” Cristian said with a grimace. “Once Father’s back, things should return closer to normal.”
“Damn it. Rapture just got featured on one of the travel blogs,” Dinu whined as he nudged Andrei aside so he could dig around in the small fridge behind the wet bar. “I was hoping you could do a private tour to promote it more. I even had a script so you could sneak in references to some of our other properties.”
“Tell Helias your plans,” Cristian said, eyeing the chairs near the bookcases. “He’s handling my schedule for the foreseeable future.”
Vasilica gave a dark chuckle, though Atlas couldn’t tell if it was for Cristian’s news or the perfect shot she’d just landed. “You’re letting him create your schedule? How’s that going?”
“Letting is a strong word. And it’s going as well as you expect. He’s color coding it,” Cristian lamented.
“Profligate son to dutiful heir in less than a night,” Dinu laughed. “I’ll remind him to not forget to schedule in feeding too. I swear, the man feeds less than Ioana. He needs to remember not all of us can pull that off.”
Ioana rolled her eyes and flipped him off. Dinu made a kissing sound in reply and pulled a blood bag from the fridge. Andrei grunted and tilted his head toward Atlas. It took Dinu a second to understand what he meant, but once he did, he gave Atlas a worried look. “This okay?” he asked.
Atlas thought about it for a second and shrugged. “It’s not mine, so have at it.”
“Anyone else want some?” Dinu asked. Everyone waved him off, so he poured the contents into two glasses. He sipped from one and handed the other off to Vasilica, who accepted it with murmured thanks as she plotted her next move. Cristian sank down in one of the chairs that left him an easy view of the game, while Andrei worked on his own drink.
“Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian called, crooking a finger at him. He was a sight, legs slightly splayed, head tilted so he watched Atlas’s approach through his dark eyelashes, and wicked, lazy smile in place. He waited for Atlas to draw up beside his chair to ask, “What are your thoughts on my visiting Rapture for Dinu’s little campaign?”
He didn’t have thoughts on Rapture. No, that was a lie. He had thoughts, but none of them made sense. He wanted Cristian to enjoy himself. Decebal had tightened security at the club, so it was one of the safer places for them to go. He’d gone several days without any signs of an impending migraine, so he wasn’t worried about the music or lighting setting one off. But he didn’t like the jealousy sliding in at the edges of his mind as he thought of Cristian wandering off with another donor. He had no intention of feeding Cristian again, so he had no claim to such an emotion. It sat there nevertheless, an irritating burr he kept brushing against as he reasoned with himself and tried to find a good response.
“Let me know when Helias schedules it in and I’ll get us there,” he said at last.
Behind him, Dinu and Vasilica sent up whoops of triumph. Cristian didn’t. He gave Atlas a slow once-over and said, “I’ll think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?”
“I want you to enjoy yourself too.”
Maybe it was the way Cristian stared at his mouth. Maybe it was the earlier sexual frustration taking the words out of context. It could have been one of a hundred things, but Atlas’s desire flared back to life. Cristian sucked in a breath. His pupils dilated and his fingers dug into his denim-clad knee. Atlas shifted, suddenly remembering Nell noticing the change in his scent and praying no one else in the room had deciphered its meaning. His discomfort snapped Cristian out of whatever distraction he’d lost himself to because he lifted a hand and flicked his fingers toward the door, dismissing Atlas from his presence.
“Move, Mr. Kinkaid,” he said, voice rough and rasping around Atlas’s title. “Let me watch Ioana finish this.”
He moved back to his earlier place by the door, relieved that no one seemed to have found his and Cristian’s interlude unusual, and settled in to finish out the last hour of his shift.
It passed uneventfully. As dawn neared, he made his goodbyes and headed for his car. He was almost home before he remembered his nearly empty fridge. Eating dinner with everyone else while he was on shift had become so common he rarely needed to make major shopping trips anymore, but he was down to the dregs of his last half-hearted trip. If he wanted to eat anything other than the last splash of spoiled creamer or the leftover seasoning packet from a box of wild rice he’d purchased on a whim, he’d need to stop somewhere.
He pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a store near his neighborhood. The lights overhead created a patchwork of darkness and illuminated asphalt he stuck to on his way inside. It was still early enough that the aisles were a maze of boxes and pallets while workers restocked shelves. Only a handful of other customers wandered about, most of them older. No on
e made eye contact, all preferring to slip quietly past each other like ghosts. It was calm and still smelled of cleaners and mopped floors. He snagged a basket and began wandering.
He decided on sandwiches, an easy meal to throw together if he was feeling fancy. Even better, he could eat the individual components as his energy and stomach permitted if he had a bad day. He found some decent vegetables and wandered to the bakery, where he dug around in the discount pile until he uncovered a bag of rolls that were still soft when he squeezed them. His basket filled quickly after that with his usual purchases. Coffee, creamer, a roll of paper towels, and another bottle of liquid plant feeder for Snafu, not that it would make a difference. He paused in the personal care aisle to eye the boxes of condoms. It was a stupid thought to entertain.
After a few attempts to walk away, only to find himself looping back through the same aisle, he gave in. He added a box to his cart, along with a fresh bottle of lube. He’d never use either, he told himself, guiltily shuffling the contents of his basket so the rolls covered the damning evidence of his foolish hopes, but it was better safe than sorry.
Last stop was for sandwich meat and cheese. He splurged on the thick-cut slices of cheese before facing the intimidating refrigerated wall of plastic boxes and bags. “Isn’t meat supposed to be gluten free?” he mumbled, leaning closer to decipher one of the labels.
“I should hope so,” said a man to his right.
Atlas jerked away, swinging his basket up between them when he registered who was speaking to him. The colors of Jasper Rhodes’s suit were flattened by the industrial lighting, which cast the planes of his face in an uncomfortable blend of shadow and washed-out flesh.
“Surprised to see me, Mr. Kinkaid?” he asked. His smile was too wide, the slightly pointed canines and flat line of straight, white teeth too pronounced to look natural.
“What do you want?” Atlas asked. He doubted Jasper was here with anyone else. It would be cutting too close to sunrise. Besides, the last time he’d been seduced by the Wharrams’ promises, Jasper had come alone to do the job. Bryony Wharram wouldn’t waste her time dealing with Atlas directly.
