by M. A. Grant
Andrei, the man he suspected was the Wharrams’ other mole, stood across the room from him. But hearing the Wharrams’ quiet promise of retribution for his turning them down echoed in Cristian’s voice made Atlas realize his answer was about far more than a contract. This was his last chance to stop the true monsters.
“No,” Atlas growled, focusing all his fury on Andrei alone. “I’m not leaving. Not until I know you’re safe.” He crossed the room to Andrei. It was a risk to make the accusation here, but Cristian’s safety came first. Decebal needed to know how close the danger truly was. “And I know you won’t be safe until this piece of shit is no longer around.”
He felt the weight of Decebal’s gaze on him, testing his resolve, looking for proof of the accusation.
“You dare question my devotion to this family? I swore I would protect Angelica and her son. Everything I have done is to secure his future,” Andrei raged.
“And what a fantastic job you’ve done,” Atlas bit out. Keep closing in. Use your body to block his path to Cristian. Ioana’s behind him, you’re in front...together we might hold him back long enough when this all goes sideways. He stood toe to toe with the man and glared up at him. “She’s dead and you handed her son a bottle of vodka and told him to go fuck a stranger who ended up drugging him. Some protector you are—”
“You gave Cristian the vodka?” Doctor Dosou interrupted, staring at Andrei. “This vodka,” she clarified, holding up the bottle in his direction. The table before her was littered with tiny samples, two of them brightly colored.
Andrei narrowed his eyes and shut his mouth, but Atlas was close enough to see how his eyes flicked around the room. Probably cataloging distance, challenges, access to his target. It wasn’t smart to give him the time to plan. He snapped his fingers in front of Andrei’s face. It earned him a fanged snarl, one that made the skin around his scars ache from how the skin pulled tight when he fought a shudder, but it did distract Andrei.
“Answer her,” Atlas ordered.
When Andrei didn’t speak immediately, Dinu made a soft noise and murmured, “I saw him carrying it from the bar when he followed Cristian back.”
The doctor glanced toward Decebal. He frowned and eyed the sample on the table. He’d been careful to not move closer, but his weight was balanced differently. “You found something?”
“Juniper,” she said.
The word sucked the air from the room. Andrei moved before anyone else. Atlas read it in his sudden tension, in the feral glint of his eyes. He avoided the worst of Andrei’s swing to clear him from his path, only getting knocked down to his knees, unlike Dinu, who was thrown backward into the wall. Ioana lunged at Andrei’s back, clawing at his shoulders, only to be ripped off and flung at Decebal, who had sprung forward. Helias moved too, but he was too far away, unable to close the gap.
Atlas’s ribs screamed in protest from the blow they’d taken, but he scrambled to grab on to Andrei as he rushed Cristian. He reached, caught hold of Andrei’s leg, and pulled with what little might he had. The man stumbled and fell with a surprised shout. It gave him a moment. That would have to be enough.
They staggered up together. Atlas twisted to keep himself between Cristian and the threat, barely avoiding a wild haymaker swing that came at him faster than he thought possible. Andrei snarled and swung again, forcing Atlas to dance backward out of his reach. The simple defense left Andrei overextended, furious, and Atlas used the mistake to his advantage.
There was no doubt Andrei would swing again. His arm drew back just like Atlas expected, and Atlas moved. His palm struck Andrei’s bicep, jarring them both when the swing’s momentum was lost. In the split second it took Andrei to realize his mistake, Atlas finished taking the gap between them. For all he’d lost after the attack, the muscle memory of his training remained. A grab around the wrist with one hand, while his other hand clenched around the upper bicep. He dragged Andrei off balance, stepping to get behind his back. From there, it was easy to release the wrist and slam the heel of his hand into the soft flesh over the man’s kidney. Andrei gave a wheeze of pain and bowed away from the strike, losing the advantage of his greater height and leaving his neck vulnerable. Atlas grabbed his chin, forced his head back, and twisted him around, throwing him to the ground. He kept his hold on Andrei’s raised arm and ground a knee into the tender join of armpit and pec, praying the others moved fast enough to help him keep the man on the ground.
Ioana and Helias were there in a blink, throwing themselves over Andrei to keep him from struggling free. Decebal joined them a moment later. He crouched beside the man and his fingers dug into Andrei’s chin. Only then, faced with the Vladislavic patriarch’s snarl, the fangs inches from his eyes, did Andrei still.
“You poisoned my son,” Decebal murmured. The quiet menace in his voice combined with the golden flash of his eyes forced Atlas to look away and swallow, fighting down his own flight response.
“Not fatally,” Andrei said. He hissed and grimaced as Decebal dug his fingers in deeper.
“Angelica invited you into our home. I let you stay. And you betray me. Why?”
“Did you actually believe their promise?” Cristian asked, surprising them all. He swayed, barely able to stand, and Atlas hurried to help support him. Cristian fell against him, trusting Atlas to hold his weight, and glared at his great-uncle as Atlas settled him in place against his side. “The Wharrams despise us. They banished you for daring to choose my mother over them. You face great danger if you return to them. You wouldn’t go back unless they promised you something worthwhile. What was it, uncle? Your old position back? Or—” He glanced from Andrei to his father, who watched the traitor. “Or perhaps they offered you something better? The chance to rule my father’s territory as their lieutenant after I was leveraged against him?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Andrei said. “If you want to know what price the Wharrams offered for your head, ask your bodyguard.”
The world ground to a halt. Atlas locked his weakening knees, and tightened his grip around Cristian’s back. Sets of golden eyes fixed him in place. He shivered when their fangs caught the light as they exchanged worried glances.
“A drastic charge,” Decebal said evenly, “made by a desperate man.”
“What reason do I have to lie?” Andrei asked. He tilted his head, exposing his neck. “Take my blood. Learn the truth.”
Helias took a step forward. “Sir,” he said to Decebal, “shall I?”
Decebal dragged his focus away from Andrei to find Atlas. Barely banked fury burned in his eyes. All it would take was an affirmation for Helias to take Andrei’s blood and learn the truth. Atlas could no longer tell if he was supporting Cristian, or if Cristian was supporting him.
“No,” Cristian replied for his father. “He is a liar. He has betrayed his family, pitting them against each other to profit. His words have no value. We cannot consider any offer he makes.”
“What would you suggest I do then, my son?” Decebal asked.
Cristian gestured them to let Andrei up. Decebal stepped aside, allowing Ioana and Dinu to help their former compatriot to his knees. They didn’t let him stand; they pressed their hands down on his shoulders, a clear warning against making any sudden moves. Helias retook his place at Decebal’s side, but the man didn’t notice, too fixated on his son. Cristian carefully unwound from Atlas’s grip and made his slow, staggering way to his uncle. He came to a halt in front of the man and reached out, holding his face between his hands, forcing him to look up.
“Cristian,” Andrei whispered, “I promised to keep you safe, whatever the cost. You know this. You believed me when you were a boy.”
“I know,” he said with a small, sad smile. “Your mistake was to forget I am not the boy I was.”
“The human will betray you,” Andrei said, a final, desperate attempt to sway Cristian back to his side.
�
�He might,” Cristian agreed. He moved, the same efficient twist of the head he’d used to incapacitate their attacker at Hahn Lake, and released Andrei’s body to Dinu and Ioana’s hold. “But you already have.”
Chapter Nineteen
Atlas couldn’t move, even when Cristian stumbled. Ioana and Dinu dragged Andrei’s body out the door, past Vasilica and the whimpering donor from Rapture. Decebal gave Helias an order to follow and finish the job. His steady command left Atlas trembling and he couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t the unconscious one. He wasn’t injured, other than the glancing blow to his ribs. They ached, but didn’t spark with the pain broken ribs would have caused. He was fine.
It took Doctor Dosou physically shaking him to pull him out of his stupor. “Atlas,” she kept saying as her hands flitted over him, “are you with me? Are you bleeding anywhere?”
“No,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”
She did one final sweep before deciding he wasn’t in any immediate danger. She ordered him to retrieve blood bags for Cristian, who needed to feed to help him fight against the juniper’s negative effects. Grateful for the task, he grabbed some out of the bar fridge in the billiards room and hurried back across the hall.
They’d resituated Cristian in one of the antique chairs along the wall. A picture was pulled down and a saline bag hung in its place. An IV line was already started in Cristian’s arm. Decebal stood at his son’s side, supporting his weight, while the doctor worked on preparing a syringe of clear liquid. Cristian forced himself to look up when Atlas returned to the room, blood bags in hand, and gave him a weary smile. He was still too pale, and his efforts against Andrei had left a new sheen of sweat over his forehead.
“You should probably go home,” he said when Atlas handed the blood over. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.”
“Don’t care,” he replied, and crouched in front of him.
He was all too aware of Decebal standing inches away, watching their conversation with interest. Cristian’s punishment for Andrei’s betrayal was meted out with Decebal’s approval and Atlas had no doubt Decebal would kill him if he knew Andrei’s accusation had been accurate. Cristian’s trust alone had stayed his execution, and he would risk execution to repay such a gift.
“Do you want me to go home?” he asked.
“No,” Cristian admitted, gripping the bags tighter. He laughed weakly. “Honestly, I’m scared if you walk out now, you’ll never come back.”
“Mr. Vladislavic,” Atlas said quietly, without looking in his direction, “would it be too much of an imposition if I borrowed a spare room today?”
Cristian’s eyes widened. Atlas took one of the blood bags from him and looked around the various medical tools spread out on the nearby sofa table. The doctor tilted her head toward a pair of scissors, which Atlas picked up and used to trim off a corner of the bag. He handed it back to Cristian, clasped Cristian’s trembling hands around it, and helped steady it as he lifted it to his mouth.
Decebal waited for Cristian to begin drinking to ruffle his hair in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. He pulled away soon after, leaving Atlas to watch his son. “I’ll have one prepared for you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Atlas said. “I’ll do whatever you need to earn my place here.”
Atlas didn’t expect the light pressure of Decebal’s hand pressing against his back. The man cleared his throat. “You have earned your place a thousand times over. Stay as long as you wish. You’re family now, Atlas.”
He nodded, throat tight, and listened to Decebal leave the room. He watched Doctor Dosou inject her syringe into the saline bag. After a minute, Cristian stopped. He tilted his head back and winced. “It’s cold,” he complained.
“I know,” the doctor said. “But give it a few minutes and it’ll start to feel better. We caught the juniper early, so I don’t think you’ll be down for too long.”
“What did you give him?” Atlas asked.
“A drug cocktail to support his body’s response to the poison,” she replied, starting to clean up her kit. “The next twenty-four hours are critical. If he starts puking or complaining about kidney pain, get me immediately.” She pointed at the blood bags and gave them both a stern look. “At least one bag every two hours, understand?”
Cristian made a face, but Atlas nodded. “I’ll make sure of it,” he promised.
“I’ll be back in a bit to take out the line. In the meantime, stay.”
Mollified, she left, saying something about arranging for a fresh delivery. Atlas hoped she meant more blood, but didn’t ask for clarification, too distracted by the muscles working in Cristian’s neck as he did his best to finish off the bag.
“Feeling any better?” he asked when Cristian finally came up for air. He took the empty bag from him and set it on the table. It was probably stupid, but he rubbed his hands over Cristian’s arms, trying to warm him.
Cristian hummed and leaned back in the chair, his eyes drifting closed. “Still tired. But better.”
“Rest. The doc will be back soon.”
Half an hour later, the doctor returned. She put Cristian back to rights quickly and let Atlas help him up. Once she was positive he wouldn’t keel over, she handed over another blood bag, reminded Atlas what to watch for, and left them.
“Let’s get you to your room,” Atlas told Cristian.
“Oh?”
“To rest,” Atlas clarified. Cristian heaved a dramatic sigh, but let Atlas lead him. Once he was sure no one was in the hall to overhear them, Atlas dared to add, “Once you’re better, we’ll see what happens.”
“Tease,” Cristian said through a sleepy smile. “I’m holding you to that. If I remember any of this once I wake up.”
Atlas smiled. “I’d expect nothing less.”
Decebal hadn’t wasted time meeting Atlas’s request. Helias met him at Cristian’s room. He waited until Atlas had Cristian settled in to open the next door over and gesture Atlas inside.
“The family’s wings are less formal, but more comfortable. You could stay in one of the rooms in the guest wing, but I thought it might be best if you were near to Mr. Slava,” Helias said, stepping delicately around the subject. When Atlas nodded, he relaxed. “There are bath supplies stocked and Dinu found some clothes he believed would fit you, if you wish to change.” The consilier made himself scarce shortly afterward, leaving Atlas to his own devices.
The space was almost the size of his living room and kitchen at his apartment, and that wasn’t even counting the en suite bathroom, with its dimmable lighting and a stone shower that left him drooling. Unlike Cristian’s room, this one was fairly open, with a sleek, wooden bedroom set that left plenty of open floor space. A TV hung on the wall beside several landscape paintings. The lights overhead were warm and could also be dimmed from a main switch. The room was also littered with candles. Curious, Atlas picked up one and gave it a tentative sniff. Beeswax, but no perfume. Everything seemed designed to offer comfort and a respite from sensory overload.
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying to take it all in. He had more in common with these vampires than he did most people. Perhaps he should have taken Decebal up on his offer of employee housing sooner. If you’re allowed to stay, he worried. Who knew what secrets Helias would get from Andrei before Decebal exacted his final punishment? Maybe Atlas’s secrets would come out whether he wanted them to or not.
No one came to confront him though. He stayed in the room next to Cristian’s for the next four days, only going home once at Cristian’s request to get some clothes and to check on Snafu. He slept fitfully, as he’d expected from being in a new place, but it worked in his favor. Under his attention, Cristian fed on more bags and napped regularly, despite his muttered protests. The forced recuperation did the trick. A checkup with the doctor on the fourth night confirmed Cristian’s blood work was free and clear of the last traces of
the small amount of poison.
“Good,” Atlas said when Cristian shared the news. “Just in time for your meeting tomorrow night.”
“What meeting?”
“Helias was able to reschedule most of your other responsibilities, but he couldn’t manage this one.”
Cristian scowled. “Which is it?”
“Walk through of the warehouses on the riverfront near the hospital,” Atlas said. “I guess you were the one to meet with the architect about them?”
“Damn it. That is a big one.” Cristian tugged at his hair with a hand. “Do you think it’s safe to go?”
“Helias and your father said it was,” Atlas hedged.
Technically the discussion he’d had with them centered around Cristian’s increased safety in light of Andrei’s death. Helias had confirmed Andrei’s ties to the Wharrams, despite the man’s protests. With their mole out of the picture, Decebal was comfortable allowing Cristian to return to his duties, as long as Atlas accompanied him.
“I suppose that’s a relief,” Cristian mumbled.
“It means your life will be able to get back to normal,” Atlas told him. “No more kidnappings or attempted assassinations to worry about.”
“Nothing but murderous creatures and honest conversations left to fear,” Cristian said. He gave Atlas a sideways glance. “We will be talking, right?”
A question this time, not a statement. He hadn’t forgotten Atlas’s promise.
“We’ll talk,” Atlas promised. With Andrei dead and the Wharrams in retreat, it was time to put the past away for good. He just hoped Cristian would still want him after the truth came out.
* * *
The next night, Cristian rapped on Atlas’s door earlier than they’d agreed to leave. “Hurry up,” he said, checking his belt and the tuck of his shirt into his slacks. “I’ve got a stop to make first.”
