Reeve of Veils (Inheritance Book 4)

by Amelia Faulkner

  Mikey skidded to a halt outside it and grit his teeth.

  Nothing had changed.

  It was still that same bright, cheerful storefront. The glass looked nice and new, but then there’d been that thing back in February he read about while aggressively not cyberstalking Laurence. Some party got the place totally wrecked, but none of that showed now. There were hanging baskets either side of the door, and the windows were filled with a riot of colors and cutesy little price labels. The shop even smelled great: sweet and delicate despite the summer heat.

  It was all a sham. Myriam owned it, and Laurence just worked there. Hell, half the time Laurence never even showed up, or he turned in late because he was stoned, or he kept it open late because he was dealing pot in the back room once his mom had gone home for the night. All these pretty flowers were handled and sold by a useless druggie who almost died in Mikey’s house three years ago.

  It wasn’t fair.

  Why should Laurence get to live this normal-looking life with a mom who loved him? When he’d started at Mikey’s school he’d been an outcast, a loner, a sissy-boy who got beat up because everyone knew he was too girly to be straight. Even as young teens there was always this sense that Laurence was other, just like the rest of the kids who didn’t fit right. So when those kids accepted Laurence, he should’ve accepted them right back.

  But he still got to go home to Mom and Dad, and he still got to have the girls swoon over him as well as the boys, and sure he got beat up now and then but he was still the prettiest kid in the whole damn school and he was still better than Mikey in ways Mikey knew without a doubt but couldn’t really put his finger on.

  Maybe that was why he’d been so set on getting Laurence on something more than just the weed they were all smoking. Or maybe it was because Laurence could grow weed like nobody else and Mikey was jealous. Shit, the guy even got to make money off selling the weed only he could grow.

  So why shouldn’t Mikey get to make money too? He couldn’t have the Mom and Dad, he couldn’t have the looks or the desirability, but he could at least get rich. Some of the kids wanted to try cocaine, but only Mikey knew where to score some.

  He scowled in through the thick bottle glass of the windows as he paced the sidewalk, but ducked away quickly once he saw Myriam emerge from the back. She was the last person he wanted to see right now, and he sure didn’t want her to tell Laurence she’d seen him, either.

  And now Laurence was doing it to him again. His life was just so fucking perfect he even had this stupid-faced Earl hanging off his arm. Probably buying him things, taking him to nice places, flying around the world and shit like that. Why should Laurence get all that?

  Did it really matter what Frederick’s motives were when what he was offering was everything Mikey had ever wanted?

  He wiped his palms over his pants to get the sweat off, then grabbed his cellphone.

  Fifteen minutes.

  Shit. Fifteen minutes left and he didn’t even have a key to Frederick’s suite.

  He turned and bolted down C Street so fast he almost matched pace with the trolley before he peeled off down Fifth Avenue, which at least meant the crosswalks were on his side the whole way, but by the time he all but fell into the hotel lobby he was drenched with sweat and his lungs felt like they were burning up.

  Mikey staggered to a halt in the middle of the lobby and doubled over, hands on his knees, as he struggled to breathe. His head swam at the abrupt change from running at full-tilt under the full force of the sun to the cool, shaded world of the hotel.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  Mikey waved off the doorman and forced himself upright. He didn’t have time to waste just standing around breathing. “’S fine,” he gasped as he pushed on toward the elevators, and he jabbed at the call button every second until the doors finally dragged themselves open several years later. Or at least what felt like a decade. He was about to enter, but the cause of the delay soon became obvious as an entire family of tourists dawdled out of it while fussing over the children’s sunscreen and hats, and all Mikey could do was glare at them and wish he had Frederick’s powers to make them get their asses moving faster.

  He dove into the elevator and jabbed the button for the penthouse, then sagged against the back wall and prayed he wouldn’t have to deal with other people until he got there.

  Eight minutes.

  Waiting for the tourists and their kids had only knocked a couple of minutes off his time after all. Mikey gripped his phone like a lifeline and stared at it as the elevator doors drifted closed.

  There was no way the elevator could take eight minutes, but still he stared at the green floor indicator and counted every single beep as the car went up as though his life depended on them.

  HE BOLTED out of the car and to Frederick’s door, then hammered the doorbell just in case Frederick was back early.

  There was no answer. Mikey wasn’t surprised by that. What were the odds that Frederick was actually standing by the elevator on whatever floor the gym was at and checking a stopwatch to make sure he got back here at exactly the time he said he would?

  Mikey sunk down to the floor with his back to the door to wait, and the adrenaline which had surged through him when he ran now left him drained in its wake as it abandoned him.

  Frederick was gonna go through his head and find out what he’d been up to these past two hours, and he was gonna piss himself laughing. Mikey ground his teeth and shifted on his ass, but the thought of impending mockery wasn’t enough to make him leave again.

  No.

  This was his choice. Maybe the only choice he was ever gonna get from here on out, but at least it was his choice, and he chose to walk away from everything this shitty city had ever handed him. Even if it killed him, ‘cause to be honest that was better than being here.

  He almost didn’t hear it when a door swung open. He was staring at his phone so intently as he watched doomsday crawl closer that it didn’t occur to him that Frederick might use the stairs instead of the elevator. When he heard the scuff of sneakers on carpet come closer he looked up.

  And up.

  Frederick’s t-shirt was so saturated that it was basically see-through. His hair was dark with wet, and slicked away from his forehead with nothing more than the casual sweep of one hand so that strands broke free at random. The shorts he wore clung to his thighs.

  The guy was a goddamn beast, and it wasn’t helped by Mikey being so low to the ground. It just made Frederick look even taller.

  Frederick loomed over Mikey, his expression so unreadable he coulda been a famous painting, then he raised an eyebrow and offered his hand. “Come along. Stand up.”

  Mikey took the offer and let Frederick haul him to his feet with hardly any effort on his own part, and stuffed his phone away. “You, uh.” He swallowed, then somehow in the middle of trying to think of something to say his mouth took over and out came the dumbest shit he’d ever heard. “You work out, huh?”

  You fucking idiot! Where do you think he’s been for two damn hours?

  He winced and snatched his hand back, then got out of the way so Frederick could swipe his key card in the door.

  “You will, too,” Frederick murmured as he swooped past. “We need to get you onto some semblance of a regular sleep pattern or you won’t be able to absorb and retain education as well as you might otherwise.” He continued in without holding the door for Mikey, and Mikey had to shoulder it to squeak inside before it closed on him. “Very smart of you,” Frederick threw over his shoulder, “to think of the luggage tags. You’re brighter than you give yourself credit for.”

  The heat flooded Mikey’s cheeks. “You just dove right on in, didn’t you? Do you do that to everyone?”

  “Largely, yes.” Frederick emptied his pockets onto the dining room table.

  “I didn’t feel it this time.”

  “Correct.” Gray eyes turned on Mikey. “Nobody does, unless I share with them exactly what I’m doing.”


  Mikey nodded slowly. “You made me see you inside my own head, then. To show me what you could do.”

  “That’s about the size of it, yes.”

  Any answer he could have formed died in his throat as Frederick peeled the wet t-shirt off over his head. The muscles of his back rippled like a wave as the material broke free of them, and Mikey was trapped as much as any deer in headlights ever was.

  “Later,” Frederick chuckled. “If you want. But I’d rather shower first.” He flicked the t-shirt out so that he could fold it over one arm, and beckoned to Mikey with the other.

  Mikey stumbled closer. “What about—”

  “Mostly irrelevant.” Frederick grasped him by the shirt and hauled him toward the stairs. “You are quite correct in your deduction that I would not have discovered your existence were it not for my interest in Laurence Riley, but there is little more to it than that. A serendipitous byproduct of my investigations, if you will.”

  Mikey gripped Frederick’s wrist as he was pulled up the stairs. None of the guy’s words made sense. “You talk too fancy,” he muttered. “I dunno what you’re saying half the time.”

  “You’ll learn.” Frederick released him at the top of the stairs, but continued to talk as he led the way into his bedroom. “You could at least have applied for your passport while you were gone. We’ll have to get that underway this afternoon. I presume it’s something that you can do online?”

  “Uh…” Mikey hurried after him. “I don’t know.”

  “You have proof of identification? Birth certificate and such?” The t-shirt was placed neatly over the back of a chair, and Frederick slid his shorts down without any warning. “No,” he sighed before Mikey could regain his senses, “I don’t believe a driver’s license will be enough. Very well. Then we must find out exactly what you require and source those documents first.”

  “I thought you wanted me to work on my communication skills,” Mikey managed to grunt.

  “True, true.”

  Then Frederick peeled his briefs off, which really didn’t help Mikey’s ability to talk at all.

  20

  FREDERICK

  As anticipated, Michael placed far too much focus on how easy it might be for his mind to be manipulated telepathically, and no thought whatsoever as to how facile it was to do these things the old-fashioned way.

  Frederick watched his reaction to the oldest trick in the book and wasn’t disappointed. A bit of sweaty full-frontal nudity was usually enough to arrest anyone’s attention, particularly if their sexual orientation swung his way, which Michael’s certainly did. The poor man’s head was filling up with a hundred different fantasies all clamoring for the attention of his conscious mind, and all they managed to achieve was a growing discomfort in his underpants.

  He idly added his undies to the pile of sweaty clothes on the back of a chair and turned away from Michael, leaving it entirely in the poor man’s hands as to whether or not he would follow into the bathroom. Thus far he had proven very good at tailing after Frederick, and it didn’t take long for him to move now. The moment Frederick’s bare foot set down on tile floor, he detected the shift in Michael’s thought which indicated he was in motion.

  Frederick wandered past the bathtub and into the vast rainfall shower. There was no need to spare Michael a single glance. He knew precisely where the other man was at all times, so he turned the shower on and warmed the water until it would create vapor on the sheet of glass between them. The inference should be clear enough: if Michael wished to see anything, he would have to get himself into a position where the glass was no longer an obstacle.

  “So, uh—” Michael began.

  Frederick cut in to keep him off-balance. “Speak up.”

  “What is your interest in Laurence?”

  He foamed shampoo between his hands before smoothing it through his hair, then turned to face Michael as he tipped his head back and rinsed the suds free. “He’s lingering around my brother. My older brother. The Duchy of Oxford is a peerage inherited by primogeniture.” At Michael’s unseen yet unavoidably felt confusion, he added, “The first-born child inherits the title and estate. Quentin is the first-born child, and therefore…” He tailed off as Michael’s mind latched onto the answer.

  “Therefore you wanted to check Laurence out to see if he was a gold-digger or the real McCoy,” Michael supplied.

  “Indeed.” He began to lather his skin, turning idly away again as he bathed under the warm deluge. “He is, it transpires, genuinely in love with my brother.”

  “Huh.” Frederick easily picked out the jealous flare from Michael’s emotions. “Is that so.”

  “Neither of whom are any of your concern.” He smirked to himself. “If you wish to join me, you may.”

  That poured water on the flames nicely. Michael’s thoughts skittered right back to his near-obsession with sex, and he stripped his clothes off without care for where they landed. He hurried into the shower so fast that Frederick had to grab him lest he slide right across the wet floor tiles and make an arse of himself.

  He grinned down at the redhead as the water began to compress his curls and make them glisten. “Eager,” he murmured. “Very well. Once we have applied for all the paperwork you require, you will head for a clinic and get yourself tested.”

  It was like watching a dog realize it wasn’t about to receive the treat after all. The tension in Michael’s shoulders turned to frustration, and they slumped in slow motion.

  “Really, dear boy.” He patted Michael’s cheek, then began to squeeze shampoo into his own palm. “If you think that’s going to get in our way, you haven’t thought through the full extent of my abilities.”

  “What do you mean?” Michael stood still as Frederick began to smooth lather through the dark red mop on his head.

  “I mean…” He said nothing else. His hands continued to chase the shampoo through Michael’s hair, but his thoughts extruded into Michael’s and coiled around them until he had full control over the American’s perception.

  Michael gasped sharply.

  Frederick allowed himself a smirk. The satisfaction was already a strong reward, and he had barely begun to enjoy his new toy.

  What an excellent choice. He really must thank Icky some day.

  While his hands idly bathed Michael’s body, he slipped into the man’s mind, and the shower became both their reality and an imaginary construct.

  Here they could do all the things it was not yet safe to do with their real bodies. Until Michael’s results came back, this would have to suffice, but at least for Michael it would be exactly as good as the real thing.

  He leaned in until his chest touched the leaner man’s, and pushed back against the shower wall. Michael’s cock dug against his thigh, so he responded in kind.

  Michael’s green eyes grew wide. His breath came fast. “This isn’t real,” he realized.

  “You really are very good,” Frederick rumbled as he ran his hands down Michael’s sides. “And there you were worried that you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

  “You literally just said a second ago nothing was gonna happen without test results.” Michael gasped as Frederick’s hands teased down over his hips and gripped his arse. “I’m not completely stupid.”

  “Au contraire,” he whispered against Michael’s forehead. “You aren’t remotely stupid.” He kneaded slowly, fingers working over that skinny little backside before he dipped down between Michael’s cheeks to stroke lightly along the crease. “We make mistakes. Those who do not learn from them are stupid. But you’ve learned — albeit lessons which are not necessarily good for your personal well-being, but you have learned to survive in the circumstances you were under.” Frederick shrugged, then lowered his head to pepper kisses along Michael’s shoulder, and tailored each one to Michael’s responses.

  Michael trembled in his arms. Arousal warred with shame, and his gasps came with the softest of tears. “This isn’t fair,” he whimpered.<
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  “If you’ve not learned by now that life is the very definition of unfair,” Frederick breathed, “then I don’t know what to tell you.”

  “You told me I was special,” Michael whimpered.

  “Mm. Because you are.” He gently eased his hands up to wrap around Michael’s waist, and held the thin body against himself, drawing him away from the wall and under the water. It would prove more soothing than the tile against his back. He held Michael firm, and swayed with him ever so slightly as the water flowed over their skin. “You’re going to have to take my word for it for now, but you will come to see it yourself. Give it some time. You have spent your whole life believing otherwise. It’s become habit, and habits can be overridden. Just one of those things which needs work, but you will do the work, and you will have the support you need. You won’t undertake this effort alone.”

  Michael didn’t speak, but he also knew he didn’t need to say a word. He just sagged in Frederick’s arms and gave in to having his thoughts picked over.

  It isn’t real, but it feels real. He’s real. We’re both here. I think.

  What if I did catch something? I wasn’t always careful. And with cops you don’t even get the choice. Some of ‘em aren’t careful either. Oh God, what if I got something?

  I don’t understand you, Frederick. You say you want a toy, a plaything, something to mess around with, then you treat me like this. Is this what you call playing, or do you mean it?

  Is betrayal one of your games?

  “Not always.” Frederick knew it wasn’t the most reassuring thing he could say, but this wasn’t a time for lies. “I don’t intend to betray you, though.”

  Michael pressed his lips together and glanced up to him.

  How can I be sure?

  Frederick smiled faintly. “Because betrayal is not a game, Michael. It is to be undertaken with the utmost sincerity.”

  “My feelings aren’t a goddamn game either,” Michael whispered, barely any anger in him any more.

  “Mm. On that we may have to agree to disagree.” He squeezed a little, then returned his lips to Michael’s shoulder, and his hands to the man’s arse. “Let me at least show you what you could receive for your troubles.”