by M. A. Grant
He knew the risks of the bond. He’d already decided to tell Cristian the truth. Whether that truth came out later in words, or right now in shared memories, didn’t really matter. He couldn’t stand there and watch Cristian bleed out in front of him.
“Feed from me,” Atlas urged.
“No,” Cristian said. He met Atlas’s glare and said seriously, “You said you never wanted to experience it again. I told you I would respect your decision.”
“Well,” Atlas said as he continued dabbing at the injury, “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?” Cristian asked. “Out of guilt? Duty?”
The mangled flesh was as clean as he could get it, so Atlas turned back to his kit. He taped gauze over the wound, pressing down the edges of the tape lightly with his finger.
“You’re thinking again,” Cristian murmured with far too much concern for a man whose own blood was already staining the fresh bandage.
“I’m not offering out of guilt, or because I want another paycheck,” Atlas said at last.
He trailed off, unsure how to explain what he truly meant. Cristian reached out and took hold of his hand. He trailed his fingers over Atlas’s skin, tracing his scars with a gentle touch. “Then why?” Cristian asked.
“I don’t know,” Atlas admitted quietly. “The last time you fed, you saw the attack. Tonight, you knew what we were facing, but you were still brave enough to step between me and the strigoi.” It wasn’t guilt gnawing at him. This was something else, something deeper and harder to accept. “How could you put my life before yours?”
“How could I not?” Cristian breathed, reaching up to cup Atlas’s face with his good hand. His thumb skimmed along his cheek, and Atlas closed his burning eyes to revel in the gentleness of the touch. “What man couldn’t learn to be brave from you, dragostea mea?”
It was too much. The dam broke, and Atlas surged forward, desperate to feel Cristian’s mouth against his, to know they were alive after everything they’d been through. Soon, Decebal’s contact would find them and send them out into the world on the prayer the strigoi and their sire wouldn’t hunt them down. They would take everything from him again, until Decebal ended their threat. He had no idea how long he and Cristian would be on the run, where they would go, how they would survive. But none of that mattered. Right now, all he needed to know was the press of Cristian’s body against his own, and he lost himself to the sensation.
Cristian kissed the same way he fought. Impatient and strong and stubborn. He devoured Atlas’s mouth, making hungry noises when their tongues tangled and barely taking time to breathe. He had to eventually and Atlas stole the moment and pressed his lips to the corners of Cristian’s mouth, followed the line of his jaw. He cataloged every sigh and whimper Cristian made when his lips trailed down sensitive skin. He ached from the sounds he drew when he grew bold enough to press his teeth to the corded muscle on the uninjured side of Cristian’s neck.
“Atlas,” Cristian whispered, arching into the sting of Atlas’s teeth dragging against his collarbone. His gasp of pleasure transformed to one of pain when he tried to chase Atlas’s mouth and pulled on his injured shoulder instead.
Atlas tapped lightly over Cristian’s heart, drawing his attention. “Feed from me,” he offered again. “Let me take care of you.”
Golden eyes watched in awe as Atlas slid out of his hoodie and lifted his arm up within easy reach of Cristian’s mouth. The fear he’d felt at Hahn Lake wasn’t with him in this moment, burned away by his devotion to Cristian.
His determination made Cristian waver. He closed his eyes and nuzzled against Atlas’s bare wrist. The delicate pressure of a kiss pressed over his pulse, and Cristian’s tenderness made Atlas’s knees wobble.
“Are you sure?” Cristian mumbled into his skin.
“Yes,” he breathed, and closed his eyes when Cristian gripped his hip tightly. “It’ll be different this time. I trust you.”
Cristian moaned at that, undone by Atlas’s faith. His lips parted and his warm exhalation tickled Atlas’s skin. His thumb rubbed at Atlas’s hip, and when Atlas relaxed into that sweet touch, Cristian struck.
Fangs slid into his flesh, but it was a dim sensation compared to the fireworks exploding in his head and the steady pull of Cristian’s mouth against his skin as he fed. This time when the pressure built behind his eyes, he didn’t let the wave wash over him. Instead, he leaned into it and pushed back. It fell away and he dove after it, following it down, down—
The room was decorated with beautiful garlands and lights. Candles sat on the mantel and a fire crackled merrily in the grate. It was beautiful, but still couldn’t compare to the dark-haired woman dancing in front of him. Her face lit up with joy as Decebal led her about the room, spinning now and then out of time with the music for no reason but to hear her laugh. And that laugh... It danced up to the heavens, reminding everyone in hearing distance that this is what living was. Decebal swung them to a stop and she smiled and reached out a hand.
“We can’t have such a sweet gentleman being a wallflower,” she teased.
A pang in his chest, and something bittersweet, like lemonade with too little sugar, filled his senses.
“Sorry,” Cristian said from a long ways off. “Sometimes we find sore spots.”
“Did you find mine?” Atlas asked, dazed from being pulled so abruptly from the memory of... Angelica, it had to be Angelica.
“No,” Cristian assured him. “You haven’t let me in, I promise.”
He shook his head, trying to dislodge the clinging images of the Vladislavic room that lingered like a phantom over his vision. “Who was that woman?”
“My mother,” Cristian said. He ducked his head, flushing, and added quietly, “I wanted you to know her too.”
Atlas kissed him hard, wishing he could find words to thank Cristian for taking that risk. For trusting him enough to share such a precious memory.
When he drew away and traced his fingers over the edges of the bandage, Cristian assured him, “It’s healing.”
“Can I see?” Atlas asked.
Cristian gave him an amused look, but didn’t complain when he worked the bandage free to check. The horrific injury was nearly healed. It was still raw and angry, but the bleeding had stopped and the skin was growing back, like frost spreading over a pane of glass.
“Feeding did this?” Atlas asked, amazed.
“Yes.”
“Then finish taking what you need.”
“I don’t need more—”
“Maybe not,” Atlas interrupted, “but I’m offering. If you want it.”
Cristian’s smile was shy, only the tips of his fangs glinted in the light, and he slid his tongue over the bite. Atlas shivered when it dragged over the edges of the punctures, catching just enough for him to feel the imprint of Cristian’s fangs in his skin, before Cristian bit again.
He was lost, spun about by the overwhelming crest of memories Cristian offered. There, that one—
The moon shone overhead, turning the lake silver, like a puddle of mercury splashed across the field. An owl called from the forest behind him and everything was so good and still and peaceful. He could breathe out here for the first time in months—
Atlas gasped when he surfaced. The familiar, hideous pattern of his shower curtain solidified in his vision, though he could still feel the prickle of grass beneath his feet and the way the night air caressed his face.
Cristian pulled away from his forearm. He licked his lips and tilted his head back so he could watch Atlas. “How was that?”
“Was that another memory?” he asked, still dazed from how real it had felt.
“One of them. Thought you might like something calm.” Cristian’s eyes were dark and fond. “That’s what the bond is supposed to be like.”
Ioana was right. This wasn’t like the attack, wasn’t lik
e that fucked up moment at Hahn Lake. He’d never felt anything this powerful. He wasn’t just seeing Cristian’s past...he was diving into it headfirst, immersing himself in it so fully it took time to pull himself back to reality. It was the ultimate escape. No wonder vampires had donors falling at their feet.
Though it seemed he wasn’t the only one affected by their shared intimacy. Atlas slid his fingers along the edge of the cotton towel wrapped at Cristian’s waist that did nothing to hide his erection. Cristian hissed with want when Atlas squeezed him gently through the fabric.
“Please, Atlas,” Cristian groaned.
The towel fell to the ground a half second later, revealing Cristian’s uncut cock. It jutted up from coarse, dark hair, the glans partially exposed. A bead of precome glistened at the tip and Atlas wanted to lean down and lick it away. But that could come later, when they had more time. For now, he wrapped his hand around the length and gave an experimental stroke, enjoying the easy glide of foreskin over the shaft.
Cristian’s abs flexed, his hips pushed, and he whimpered as he bit down on his lip. The tips of his fangs poked into the flesh there, drawing twin pinpricks of dark blood. Fascinated by his sensitivity, Atlas stroked again, trailing his free hand up Cristian’s ribs, careful to avoid the nearly closed injuries.
“You too,” Cristian panted, reaching to try to free Atlas from his jeans.
He smiled and pushed Cristian’s hand away. The memory shared from the feeding, along with the soft impressions of the scene, had faded, but the sense of peace and awe lingered and bled into the current moment. Cristian’s temple was damp from the shower and Atlas nuzzled closer, mesmerized by how different his shampoo smelled when it was on Cristian’s hair, how the sublime shone through the mundane.
Every touch, every whimpered sound Cristian offered him burned into Atlas’s memory, and he groaned when he realized Cristian might hold on to this moment in all its imperfect glory too. He might someday offer it back during a feeding. That nearly undid Atlas.
He wanted to claim a place in Cristian’s life. He wanted to bring Cristian pleasure, bury it so deeply into this moment that anyone who brushed against the memory in the future would be as lost as Atlas was now.
He adjusted his grip and stroked down again, harder and faster this time. Cristian keened, the sound cut off when Atlas claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss. He parted their lips just enough to murmur, “Want you to come.”
“Then don’t stop,” Cristian begged.
It was an order he obeyed happily, focusing on Cristian until nothing else existed, until he made Cristian spill with a grunt of surprise. Come spattered his abs and Atlas’s hand.
Atlas took a moment to admire the sight, the proof of the pleasure he could coax from Cristian’s body. Maybe next time he could spread him out on an actual bed, take the time to learn what else he liked.
Next time?
“Fuck,” Cristian breathed, his face pressed into the crook of Atlas’s neck. “You’re too damn good at that.”
Atlas gave himself a mental shake. There wouldn’t be a next time. This wasn’t anything more than a one-off stress reliever. Neither of them could afford it becoming something more.
“Learned how to get off fast when I was enlisted,” Atlas said gruffly. He should have moved away, but his selfishness won out. He let Cristian stay there against him as he turned on the sink. If the other man noticed how his hand shook as he wiped them clean with a warm washcloth, he chose not to mention it.
Once he felt a bit more controlled, he eyed the bandage left askew on Cristian’s shoulder. The wound underneath had closed up the rest of the way and was now covered with a thin, nearly translucent layer of fresh, pink skin.
“Almost healed,” Atlas informed Cristian and put the bandage back to rights. “Be careful so you don’t reopen it, but you should be able to travel without trouble.”
“Travel... Damn it. Is my phone still out in the other room?”
“I think so?”
Cristian huffed and stepped away to pull on his borrowed clothes. His movements were just shy of their normal state of grace, and Atlas guessed he’d be fully recovered soon. “I need to see if our guest has arrived yet.”
“Right,” Atlas agreed. He slid on his hoodie and zipped it up to cover his scars again. “We should pack our bags.”
By the time he rejoined Cristian in the living room, the man was sitting cross-legged on the floor near one of the bookshelves. His phone sat beside him on the carpet, but he was more focused on flipping through one of the photo albums Bea had put together years ago. Atlas had never been brave enough to crack it open.
“No messages,” Cristian told him.
“Anything interesting in there?” Atlas asked, setting some clothes and toiletries on the piles they needed to finish going through.
Cristian glanced over his shoulder, then back down at the album. “You haven’t looked at this yet?”
Atlas shook his head. “Bea made it as a gift for whenever I came home. She wanted to make sure I had my best pictures together so I could remember my deployment. Neither of us thought I’d be coming home after an attack. When I got discharged, I couldn’t handle looking at it, but I didn’t want to throw away something she’d spent so long on.”
“You’ve got a good eye,” Cristian said quietly, flipping through the pages. “Seeing these makes me feel like I’m back in Romania.”
“How long ago were you there?” Atlas asked, sitting down on the farthest cushion, close enough to talk to Cristian but not close enough to spy on the pictures without a concerted effort.
Cristian shook his head. “Don’t remember the year.” He made a face. “Don’t remember its name at the time either, actually. Father was busy with trade agreements and business deals, so Mother and I spent most of our time exploring and visiting old family friends. It was wonderful. Different, but wonderful. A lot of the places you photographed are familiar.”
“It’s strange,” Atlas admitted, “to think that we were both there, just separated by time.”
Cristian nodded and idly traced one of the photographs with his finger. He tapped on it once, twice, then said, “I wonder... I know most of these places. We still have friends over there too. I’m sure they’d be willing to help us...” He closed the album. “We should go there. It’s our best chance to learn more about the strigoi who attacked you. Once we know that, we might be able to understand what’s going on here too.” He tilted his head when Atlas didn’t immediately respond and asked, “What do you think?”
He didn’t know what he thought. Going back could break him completely, or give him all the answers he’d spent years searching for. He didn’t know if he was ready for Cristian to see him at his most vulnerable again.
But they’d never get a chance like this again. They were trying to prove a ghost story was real and one of their best clues was to return to a place they knew the strigoi had been.
“Makes sense. We’ll just need to be careful. I’m still on the clock, remember?”
Cristian’s expression shuttered, but Atlas didn’t have a chance to decipher it thanks to a knock on his apartment door.
“Atlas?” Bea called from the other side. “Are you in there?”
“Thank fuck,” he muttered and hurried to the door. He still had the presence of mind to check the peephole before opening the door. He’d never seen his sister rumpled before, but there was no other way to describe her current state. She glared up at him and prodded his chest with a finger. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
“Had a mishap with a river. Phone’s dead,” he said, gesturing her inside. “Why were you calling?”
She bustled inside. Cristian rose from the couch and gave her an arch smile. “Good to see you again, Beatrice.”
“Mr. Slava,” Bea said. She dropped a bag on the floor.
Their odd interac
tion distracted Atlas from the bag, until he realized he’d seen it before. A black duffel bag, exactly like those Cristian used to deliver blood to Nell. He swallowed and pointed at it. “Bea, what are you doing with that?”
The movement pulled up his sleeve and she eyed his wrist. Too late, he realized she’d spotted the bite marks. “I should be asking the same thing,” she said, glaring at Cristian.
He held up his hands. “Completely consensual,” he assured her.
“Bea,” Atlas said again, louder this time. “What the hell’s going on?”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes, and he knew whatever she said next would break his heart. “Decebal sent me to collect you,” she said. “It’s time to leave town.”
* * *
Acknowledgments
Matt—Thank you for reminding me that high school me was valid to write about vampires. And thank you for talking me down from the ledge over and over again. Here’s to our new writing adventure!
Deidre—My continued thanks for the ideas, support, and encouragement you always give me when I suggest pursuing some bizarre new project. So grateful to be working with you!
Ronan—I hit the jackpot working on this series with you for one last hurrah. I’m still learning so much and your guidance is a blessing. Thank you!
The amazing staff at Carina—Thank you for answering questions, making my story into a real book, and helping me continue to make my childhood dreams of being an author a reality.
Kari, Kris, Emily—The chats, Zoom calls, and celebrations have made the intense writing of this book far less lonely. Can’t wait to see what you all think of it!
All the incredible m/m authors I’ve met and been privileged to celebrate with since the release of my last series—I am constantly amazed and humbled by the kindness and support of this writing community. It is a joy to log in to my social media feeds every day because I get to see all the incredible work you are all doing. Thank you for letting me be part of it.
