by Reinke, Sara
“He knew I’d never forget,” Julien had whispered, his voice growing strained. “Never forgive myself if I’d hurt you…if…if I…”
He’d started to shake, clapping his hand to his face as he’d broken down. Two centuries of grief and shame had overtaken him, and he’d drawn his knees to his chest, curling into a fetal position as he’d sobbed. Mason had held him tightly until it passed, until his tears had waned and at last, he’d slept.
Just as there would be no forgetting the years of abuse Lamar had subjected him to, and forced him to perpetrate, there would be no undoing what Nikolić had done to Julien, no cure for the infectious prion that his mind and body now harbored, Edith had said. The only thing he could do about the dark hunger inside of him would be to fight almost constantly to suppress it—or die trying.
I’ve spent my whole life fighting the darkness inside of me, Julien had said, trying his best to reassure Mason despite his earlier attempts to end his life. What’s a little more?
Mason might have smiled along with him at this had he not remembered only too vividly his own personal glimpses of the darkness Julien had mentioned—those moments in their past when his face had hardened, his blue eyes growing icy and distant, his entire disposition as well as his countenance growing granite-like and cold. When he’d close himself off from me—from the entire world, he remembered with sudden sorrow. Oh, God, when you were lost to me, Julien.
“What if there’s more of it?” Edith asked. “Phillip wrote in his notes that he had four samples of the serum he’d developed—four vials. There were two at my lab. I managed to dump one down the drain before Anna caught me, but she took the other. That’s what they gave to Julien. The third one, I’m guessing Nikolić injected into Anna’s brother, Piotr. Maybe he’d hoped it would work on a human subject differently than on the rats Phillip tested. I don’t know. But that still leaves one vial unaccounted for. One that’s still out there somewhere.”
Mason thought of the vial he’d seen in the refrigerator in the brothel’s supply room, the one with the Pharmaceaux label. “I don’t know, Edi,” he admitted with a low, heavy sigh. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it…if we ever do.” He cracked a weary smile. “For now, I’ll settle for all of us getting out of it alive.”
He heard her chuckle, soft and intimate in his ear.
“I love you, Edi,” he told her. “And I…I’m sorry, ma chère…for everything.”
He meant for more than just getting her involved in the mess with Nikolić.
“I know, Mason,” she replied gently. “And I love you, too.” Then, with the tone of her voice still hinting at a smile, she added, “Kiss Julien for me, would you? He’s been a real hero. You both have.”
“I will,” he promised, knowing Julien would like that. He won’t believe it—not for a minute, he thought with a smile. But he’ll like it nonetheless.
He hung up the phone and turned off the TV, plunging the room into darkness. The drapes had been drawn to block any hint of new morning light, and the bathroom door was closed, only a slender stripe of golden glow visible from beneath the door.
Mason settled himself back down in the bed, spooned against Julien. He draped his arm over the indentation of Julien’s waist and reached for his hand, slipping his fingers through Julien’s. When Julien stirred slightly, tension seizing his body, his breath catching as he uttered a low, distraught moan, Mason kissed his shoulder and then his ear, brushing his lips lightly through the dark tangle of Julien’s hair.
“Hush now, mon coeur,” he breathed, calling him my heart, because that was what he was, what he’d always been. My heart, my soul, my very reason for being. “I’m here, Julien. I’m right here.”
* * *
Mason woke to the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. It was late enough in the afternoon; not even the heavy curtains could fully prevent the glow of the midday sun from seeping into the room. Opening his eyes, he blinked blearily at the bedside clock and saw that several hours had passed since he’d spoken with Edith on the phone. He also saw that Julien’s side of the bed was empty, the sheets beside him cool to the touch, the warmth of the younger man’s body having dissipated.
“Julien?” Mopping his hair back from his face, Mason sat up. The bathroom door stood partially ajar, allowing more light to spill out from within, and along with it, a steady, billowing cloud of steam.
Julien didn’t answer, and Mason swung his legs around the side of the bed and stood. Grimacing, he allowed himself a momentary stretch, feeling the aching, strained muscles in his legs, shoulders, and back begrudgingly loosen. Opening his mind, but sensing nothing, not even the peripheral-most thoughts in Julien’s head, he shuffled toward the bathroom door.
“Julien?” Using the backs of his knuckles, he rapped lightly. When this still elicited no response, he eased the door open enough to poke his head inside, curious and concerned, but not necessarily alarmed.
The shower stall was directly across from him, the glass doors fogged with steam. He could see the dim silhouette of someone standing inside beneath the pelting spray of hot water. As he drew closer, he could just make out Julien standing in profile, his head hanging down, his forehead pressed against the shower wall.
Hey, Mason thought to him, and Julien leaned back from the wall, turning his face toward the door. The view through the glass was rippled and blurred with water, but he could still make out the corners of Julien’s mouth unfurling in a soft smile.
Hey, yourself. Julien lifted his hand, pressing his palm to the glass. I didn’t mean to wake you.
You didn’t. Mason raised his own hand and touched the shower door, spreading his fingers so that they lay in complement to Julien’s, with only the panel of damp glass separating them. Are you alright?
He saw Julien’s smile widen. I could use some company.
Mason arched his eyebrow. Yeah?
Julien slipped his hand from the glass and stepped back, as if clearing the way in invitation. Yeah.
Mason ducked his head and shrugged out of his T-shirt. Hooking his thumbs beneath the waistband of his jeans, he pushed them down, stepping out of them one foot at a time as they bunched around his ankles, then kicking them aside. He opened the shower door and steam rolled out, twining around his legs, spilling across the tile floor.
Julien smiled again as Mason stepped into the stall. He cut his gaze down the length of Mason’s body before with an undisguised desire. The bruises from his fights in the Draka ring were already beginning to fade. Water streamed along every well-defined contour of his shoulders and torso, sliding down his legs, pooling around his feet. Mason reached for him and he stepped forward, inclining his head as Mason slipped his fingers through his wet hair, pulling him into him. They kissed, their lips parting against each other, their tongues tangling. With a low, hungry groan, Mason laced the fingers of both his hands through Julien’s and pushed him back against the shower wall, lifting his arms, gently pinning Julien’s hands on either side of his head.
He let his mouth trail from Julien’s to his cheek, the delta of his jaw, the slope of his throat. Julien uttered a soft murmur of pleasure, tilting his head. His heartbeat quickened with every brush of Mason’s lips, every stroke of his tongue against his skin. It had been so long, but memories of Julien’s body, the secret places that brought him pleasure, remained fresh and vivid in Mason’s mind, and he took his time exploring them, reacquainting himself with each one in turn.
He lowered himself to his knees in front of Julien, sliding his hands down the front of his chest, dragging his fingertips across each delicious delineation, every lean, strong, taut muscle spanning his collar and groin. He kissed Julien’s stomach, drew his tongue along the outlines of hard-etched muscles framing his navel. He caressed Julien’s waist, his hips, skimming with his palms first down the lengths of his thighs and back up again, then inward until he cradled the hardening length of Julien’s cock between his hands.
Mason knew
what Nikolić had done to Julien; before his mental shields had been restored, he’d seen it plainly in the younger man’s mind. He’d believed it impossible to hate Nikolić with any greater ferocity or fervency until that helpless, heartbreaking moment. The assault had humiliated and traumatized Julien; Mason would be damned if he’d ever do the same. As he curled his fingers around the thick base of Julien’s shaft, he looked up. Do you want me to stop? he asked.
Julien’s eyes had been closed, his face tilted down, his hands pressed against the wall behind him as if he braced himself. At Mason’s telepathic voice in his mind, soft, gentle, and pressing, he opened his eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” Mason asked again, this time aloud.
With a smile, Julien reached for him, smoothing his wet hair back from his brow. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I want this…I want you, Mason. I’ve never wanted anyone else.”
When Mason tightened his grasp, his eyelids fluttered closed again, and when Mason took him into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the swollen, sensitive head of Julien’s cock and sliding down from there, Julien groaned. His fingers tangled in Mason’s hair and he tipped his head back, his breath escaping in increasingly sharp, ragged gasps.
“Mason…” he begged as Mason dragged the blade of his tongue down the length of his shaft, clear to the broad base, then up again, over and over, working him until his cock throbbed with full, urgent need. Just as Julien neared the edge of release, his body growing rigid and tense, his fingers closed so tightly in Mason’s hair, the strain against his scalp was nearly painful, Mason drew away, keeping his hand coiled but motionless around Julien’s cock.
He stood, kissing Julien’s mouth again, crushing his lips against his. Julien tilted his face up to meet him, hooking his fingers fiercely into Mason’s shoulders and pulling him near. He moaned, muffled against Mason’s tongue, as Mason began to stroke him again, a renewed, frenzied pace that brought Julien to climax within moments.
“God…!” Julien gasped, jerking against Mason with release. He clutched at Mason’s arms, his forehead pressed to Mason’s, water streaming in rivulets from his face, trailing along the line of his nose, the arch of his cheekbones and brows, spattering from his lips as he shuddered. “God,” he whimpered as Mason released him, reaching up to clasp his face between his hands and kiss him deeply.
Guiding Julien by the shoulders, Mason turned him around to face the shower wall. With one hand, he again pinned Julien’s hand to the wall, locking their fingers together. With the other, he reached between them. Julien shifted his weight, arching his back as Mason guided the head of his own aching, urgent arousal against his threshold. He hooked his fingers, digging at the wall as Mason entered him, stealing forward to fill him inch by inch, sinking into the incredible, tight warmth of his body.
Julien braced himself with both hands against the shower stall as Mason began to move, grinding in and out, gripping his hips between his hands. The flat plane of his groin slapped against Julien’s buttocks, and his breathing grew ragged and strained as his pace quickened, his strokes deepening.
It was as if a part of him had been missing for far too long; something inherent and integral to him had been lost, stolen from him, and at long last, he was whole again. Being with Julien—touching, tasting, loving him—made him feel complete. When he came, pleasure shuddered through him, leaving him momentarily light-headed and gasping for air. He crumpled forward, leaning against Julien’s back, wrapping his arms around his midriff. “God above, I love you,” he breathed.
Julien covered Mason’s hand with his own. “I love you, too,” he whispered in reply.
* * *
They left a trail of wet footprints leading from the bathroom to the bed. Shoving the blankets aside, Mason pressed Julien onto his back, then lowered himself atop him, straddling Julien’s hips with his thighs. He leaned down to kiss him hungrily as Julien touched his back, sliding his hands down from Mason’s shoulders to the base of his spine. He dragged Mason’s hips down toward his own, smiling against Mason’s mouth as his arousal stirred between them.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his smile widening, a slight laugh escaping him as Mason drew his bottom lip gently, playfully between his teeth and tugged. Their bodies were still wet from the shower; this helped to ease his entry as Mason reached down, grasping Julien by the cock and guiding him into position at his threshold. Julien arched his brow in surprise. “What are you…?” he murmured again, and then his voice dissolved in a low groan as Mason lowered himself against him.
He could count the number of times they had made love this way on one hand and still have fingers to spare—not because they didn’t enjoy it, but because it had always been a matter of preference that Julien followed Mason’s sexual lead; an unspoken arrangement between them that had always provided mutual pleasure, and neither had ever protested or minded. As Mason began to move, slowly descending until Julien had filled him, Julien tipped his head, his eyes closing, his back arching as he presented his hips to meet him. He groaned again, running his hands down Mason’s thighs and back to his waist again with fierce, warm friction. He hooked his fingers here, clutching at him as Mason rocked his hips, moving him in and out.
His physical arousal triggered the bloodlust; Mason could see the glint of white as his fangs began to descend, could sense the sharpening of his breathing, the quickening of his heartbeat, the excited, heated rush of his blood as it coursed through his veins. As his own pupils enlarged, his visual acuity increased; in the faint sunlight creeping through the curtains, every droplet of water clinging to Julien’s body seemed instantly, brilliantly aglow, his skin awash in sudden, golden light. The closer he came to climax, the brighter this became; when he came, his fingertips dug into the muscles of Mason’s hips, his breath and voice shuddering from him in a rough cry.
In the aftermath, as Julien lay trembling beneath him, Mason leaned down and kissed him, feeling the racing measure of his heartbeat against his chest. Julien drew his arms around Mason, holding him in an embrace.
“You’re wearing me out,” he said against Mason’s lips with a weary, breathless sort of laugh.
“We have a lot of lost time to make up for,” Mason replied. He propped himself up with one arm and reached for Julien’s face with the other, caressing his mouth with the pad of his thumb, making him smile.
“Yeah,” Julien said. “We do.”
Mason rolled off of him, resting beside Julien with his hand draped against the flat, muscled plane of his stomach. Julien wriggled closer, until his head lay tucked in the nook of Mason’s shoulder, and he uttered a low, contented sigh.
“Can we stay here?” he asked softly after a long moment. “Right here, like this. Forever.”
Mason smiled, tipping his head down to kiss Julien’s forehead. “I wish we could.”
“So do I.” Julien’s voice took on an almost rueful tone. “What’s going to happen from here?”
“I don’t know,” Mason admitted. “But whatever comes, we’ll face it together. I promise.”
“Yeah, you might want to rethink that,” Julien said with a bitter laugh. “Considering what’s waiting for me back in Kentucky. We might’ve been better off in the Draka ring.”
Lamar Davenant was dead. Julien had confided this in him, although he hadn’t needed to. Mason had seen it already in his mind, his memories. Aaron had killed him, and while a part of Julien felt tremendous relief at this, another part of him felt seized with guilt and anger—anger at himself for not having summoned what he considered the courage needed to do the same thing a long time ago.
Aaron had gone missing after Lamar’s death, but that wasn’t the only worry burdening Julien’s heart or mind. As the eldest surviving Davenant son, he was now the head of his entire clan—a responsibility he didn’t want or look forward to any more than Mason did as the new leader of his own family.
“There’s so much to do,” Julien murmured, sounding distant and somewhat
distracted. “So much to un-do…to try and atone for…”
“I want to help you,” Mason said, and Julien looked up at him. A sliver of sunlight stealing through a narrow part in the drapes cut a diagonal line across his face as he moved and flashed across his blue eyes, making them sparkle like jewels. “Hey, we’re both in the same boat here. Clan leaders now.”
Julien winced. “God help us all.”
“There’s no reason we can’t work together to figure things out,” Mason insisted.
“Yeah, except your family’s not a bunch of assholes,” Julien remarked.
Mason laughed. “Neither is yours. Your father was the asshole. And he’s gone now. You have the chance to start over again.” Leaning down, he kissed Julien on the mouth. “We all do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Six weeks later
Louisville, Kentucky
Opened in the year 1905, the Seelbach Hotel in downtown Louisville was more than just a masterpiece of historical architecture. As it had been in its heyday of the “roaring” 1920s—when it had served to inspire legendary author F. Scott Fitzgerald as a setting in his literary classic, The Great Gatsby—the Seelbach remained both a social and economic hub for Kentucky’s River City, an elegant and stately landmark that, like the Brethren clans, had seen countless seasons of evolution and change come and go in the world around it.
Thus it seemed befitting then that the Brethren Council selected the Seelbach to host its next meeting. The Council House on their own lands that had served this distinguished purpose for decades had been damaged and was currently undergoing renovation and repairs. It might have meant an unexpected halt to the governing process that had guided the Brethren for centuries, had they not decided upon the Seelbach to satisfy their needs in the meantime.
The meeting was slated to begin at eight o’clock in the evening, with dinner to be served before then in the hotel’s world-renowned restaurant, the Oakroom. While the Council members—all eligible males within the Brethren clans—dined on such luxurious fare as bouillabase or cabernet-braised short ribs—the Elders, each clan’s designated leader, met in a private adjacent dining room named for the infamous gangster Al Capone, who’d not only frequented the establishment during the Prohibition years, but had purportedly made use of secret tunnels leading from the restaurant to the basement in order to escape police raids.
