After The I Do

by Autumn Breeze

  She won’t be able to leave Necropolis until sunrise. A human attempting to get a room at a hotel is going to cause a stir. It won’t be safe for her to advertise her presence too much if she wants to get home unharmed.

  “That’s kind of you,” she replies, reaching for the top button of her shirt; I grasp her wrist, halting her undressing. Her deep brown eyes seem to ask what the hell I am doing.

  Most of the Moroii and other creatures she serves probably make a request for her body, but I’m not one of those people. I never have been. “I know it’s unconventional, but I prefer not to sleep with my—”

  “I understand. My wrist, then?” she ask. I nod. She buttons herself up when I release her before extending her arm toward me. Curling my fingers around her elbow, I lift the limb. She watches carefully, anticipating the bite. My fangs extend, piercing her skin with ease and blood floods my mouth as I drink deeply.

  It is only a couple of seconds before the whole process is over. When it is, she digs a bandage from her pocket and skillfully applies it.

  “So, that room?” I ask and she nods in acceptance.

  Even if this is her job, and a lucrative one, I doubt she wants to spend a night in the city without any place to sleep. At the end of the day, she is just a human and this is a city of monsters, myths, and the occasional miracle.

  “My butler, Benjamin, will be around to collect you. I’ll have him bring you something to eat and payment, as well.”

  “Thank you,” she mutters.

  “My pleasure.” I offer a smile before leaving.

  Benjamin is given his instructions and I go to locate Everett. Our bed is empty, but the bathroom light is on and the door is ajar. Pushing into the room, Everett is stretched out in the porcelain tub; his head rests against the back with his eyes closed.

  “That looks comfortable,” Everett jerks up, causing the water to sway against the sides and almost cascade to the floor. His face goes red, the color spreading down his chest as I rest my shoulder against the door jam.

  “You want to join me?” he softly inquires.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised that he would offer.

  “It’s just a bath. There is enough room.” Sitting up, he curls his legs against his chest before wrapping his arms around his knees.

  The water looks inviting as it steams around him. Sitting in the bath with him before we collapse into a soft bed sounds like a really good end to the day.

  “If you truly don’t mind, I think I will.” I pull my tie loose, tossing it onto the sink.

  “I don’t mind,” he replies. My fingers move over the buttons on the front of my shirt. Everett stares as I pull the fabric off and let it join my tie.

  This isn’t the first time he’s seen me without a shirt. After two weeks of marriage, he’s become accustomed to seeing me partially undressed. However, this is the first time we will be naked together and sharing a bath.

  The prospect excites me, maybe more than it should.

  Everett’s gaze follows my every movement, making me aware of everything I am doing. Only when I push my slacks and boxers off my hips does he turn away, his flesh flushed again. I climb into the tub, groaning in satisfaction when the water laps against my chest.

  “Delightful,” I mutter.

  “Hard day?” Everett asks, his gaze moving my way after I am settled.

  “Somewhat; the end has been nice. I’m disappointed I missed our walk. Business will make it harder to attend.”

  I can’t avoid my work forever, especially since it is starting to pile up. Today, the meeting I had couldn’t be put off and neither could much of my other responsibilities. It is time I get back into the routine of working before—much to my father’s displeasure—I decide a life of ease and irresponsibility is just my thing.

  “I guess the honeymoon is over,” Everett says, his fingers trailing through the water mournfully.

  I am not happy about leaving him alone while I go about my work, but it is necessary. If he wants, he is free to leave the estate at any point. I don’t expect him to wait around for me every day, wondering when I am going to turn my attentions to him.

  He has hobbies of his own he can invest time in. Maybe he could take art classes, or even give some. It would be easy to set up an art class, or something similar, in the city.

  “Officially tomorrow, but if you’d like to draw out this phase we can stay up and you can show me your art,” I offer, reaching out and pulling him toward me. He slides through the water, landing on his knees between my thighs.

  I'll mention the shop later.

  “You know, you don’t have to pretend to be interested if you’re not.” Sliding my hand up his arm and across his shoulder, I shake my head and draw Everett into my lap. He settles against me, laying his head on my chest as he tucks his legs on the other side of my knees.

  “That’s very kind of you, Everett, but I am interested. We are married and despite the short acquaintance, I’ve grown fond of you.” I look down to see Everett’s blue eyes frozen on my face. This time, I’m not sure if it is the heat of the water, the contact of our naked bodies, or his natural shyness that has him tinted another shade of ruby.

  “I—” he swallows hard. “I’m fond of you, too, Thanos.” Laying a finger under his chin, I tilt his head back.

  My mouth captures his and he opens for me as my palm slides over his hip. One of his hands slides up my chest and he latches onto my shoulder. Our tongues twist together, but he pulls back with a frown, his fingers going to his lips.

  “Blood?” I open my mouth to explain the donor—the feeding I mentioned earlier—but he turns green, shoves away from my chest and stumbles out of the tub toward the toilet. Hitting his knees, he grasps the bowl and heaves.

  I sigh, closing my eyes for a moment before getting out of the rapidly cooling water.

  The honeymoon is officially over.

  Everett glances up from the commode as I wrap a towel around my waist. He couldn’t look sicker if I drank from the donor in front of him. Or maybe he could have. It isn’t really a surprise, or at least it shouldn’t be; I should have expected his revulsion.

  Why wouldn’t he, a Vârcolac, be repulsed?

  “Maybe it would be best if I saw your work later.”

  “Thanos—”

  I shake my head, grabbing another towel and dropping it around his shoulders. He grabs the edges, curling it around his body while sitting back as I hit the toilet handle, causing the murky water to spiral downwards.

  “Goodnight, Everett.”

  10

  “May I go for a run?” I look up from the papers in front of me. Everett stands in my office doorway, twisting his fingers together. A distance has developed in the past three days. This time, I don’t try to bridge the gap because I am not sure how. There is nothing for me to apologize for, nor do I have a reason to feel guilty.

  He tasted the blood of my donor in our kiss. Whatever conclusion he’s come to, it horrified him enough to have him sleeping on the far side of the bed again. Breakfast has turned silent and neither of us has reached out to the other for our typical walks. Every encounter is awkward and strained. I dislike the new development, but what is there to do?

  “Of course. You don't have to ask but please, stick to the trails. There are—”

  “—traps,” he interrupts. “I know.”

  I clear my throat, feeling the tickle of unease in the back.

  He has been here for half a month now. With as many walks as we have gone on, I should have known that eventually, when I was busy, he was going to want to go for a run. The forest looks just as inviting as our field.

  “I’ll have them removed. You’re free to roam the property as you like after that. This is your home,” I remind him for what feels like the millionth time. He nods—but I know he doesn’t agree—offers a quick smile, then disappears.

  I try to focus on my work, but find myself looking toward my window every couple of minutes as the hours tick by un
used.

  There is a heavy weight in my stomach I can’t explain.

  Everett is a klutz I’ve come to learn. He is also something of a quiet rebel. I might have told him to stay on the trails, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he will. He will probably want to explore the deeper parts of the woods. It is in his nature. But the traps will make him cautious, right?

  I try to focus on my work again but fail.

  Rising to my feet, I approach my window and peer out. The sun is sinking in the sky and the weight has turned into a physical ache. It has been hours. Everett should have been home long ago. What is keeping him? Has he been foolish enough to run even with the traps?

  I shake my head.

  Rebel or not, he isn’t stupid enough to do something that might cause him to get hurt.

  So why am I so worried? Is it really worry I am feeling? Can guilt explain the sour taste in the back of my throat?

  I push one of my hands into my pocket with a heavy sigh.

  What is the harm in checking if he’s returned?

  Maybe he came back and I’m just not aware of it.

  Turning from the window, I exit my study to search the house, but he is nowhere to be found.

  “Do you know if anyone has heard from Everett?” I question one of my staff. She shakes her head, carefully holding a vase of flowers in her arms.

  “No, Mr. Right. Last anyone heard he was going for a run in the East Woods,” she says.

  Returning to my office, I watch the sun disappear in a blaze of orange, pink and navy blue. Something is wrong. Everett would not stay out after dark, even if he is upset over the incident from three days previous. He would have gone for his run and came back to paint in the sunroom or stretch out in the library. Stupidity isn’t his natural disposition.

  This time when I leave my study, I don’t stop to explore the house. Everett is outside. The powerful scent of Vârcolac blood slaps me in the face like a brick even before my front door slams shut. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply.

  The smell is one I would recognize anywhere; it has become ingrained in my soul over these past eighteen days. My heart squeezes; the painful ache in my stomach doubles until it feels as if I can’t breathe.

  Following my nose, I break into a run. The grounds slip by, trees and shrubs turn into passing blurs. The deeper into the forest I go, the stronger the smell becomes. It clogs my senses, drowning out any other scent I might find in the vast forest.

  Straining my ears, I listen for any noise, any clue as to what has happened, and hear soft whimpers ahead, followed by ragged wet pants. They are shallow and weak. My heart sputters.

  Breaking into a groove, I stumble to a horrified stop.

  “Everett.”

  Sprawled out in a bed of flowers is my toffee-colored wolf. His leg is encased in a grizzly trap. That part is horrifying, but the blood everywhere is so much worse. I inhale, walking toward the injured animal with my hands out in a show of surrender and peace.

  Still, the brown wolf growls. His snout is covered in blood. I swallow hard. He’s been chewing on himself in a bid for freedom for what might have been hours, but has been unsuccessful.

  “It’s me, Everett.” He snarls, trying to push to his feet, but collapses with a low whine. “Everett, I know you’re hurt but listen to my voice, hear me; let me help you.”

  I take another slow step forward. The wolf pants hard, a low whine shaking his shoulders. He rolls his head in the dirt, burying his face in the flowers. If he finds the strength to attack, I am dead.

  “I know it’s asking a lot, but can you transform? I can help better if you’re human again.”

  As a wolf, an injured one at that, he is dangerous and capable of severely hurting me. I need him to be human before I make any attempt to free him.

  Does he understand that?

  “Everett?” I whisper. He mewls, the hair along his back standing on end before sinking along his spine. His arms shakes as he groans. Taking rushed steps forward, I catch him before he collapses into the flowers again, this time as a human. Blood soaks him and he smells like a hunting party. My heart trembles.

  “You foolish boy!” I yell, my voice shaking as I stretch him out; he cries softly in exhausted pain. “I told you to stay on the trails.” He knows about the traps. We spoke of them before he went on his run. How could he be so foolish?

  Later, I will yell, have a proper fit over the fact that he got himself hurt. Now, I move down his body, inspecting the damage done to his leg. The bone is shattered, the muscle torn badly. He will heal once the trap is removed. It is going to hurt but it can’t be helped. Besides, he is in pain now; relief will come sooner if I open the trap.

  Grasping either side of the metal teeth, I pull the mouth apart. Everett's flesh is chewed into tatters by himself and the trap. Moaning, he pulls himself across the grass and away from the contraption that ensnared him. I jerk on either side, yanking the device apart.

  Discarding it, I move to Everett. Tears stream down his face in fat droplets.

  “I’m so mad at you,” I snap, pushing one of my hands along his jaw until my fingers are buried in his hair. His silent tears turn into loud sobs as I pull him against me. His figure shakes in my embrace. If he’d listened, this could have been avoided.

  Why didn’t he stay on the trails like I told him?

  “You foolish, silly, stupid, stupid boy,” I mutter. My other arm goes around his waist as I pull him into my lap. He will be okay, but I am not sure I will ever recover. At least ninety years have been scared out of me. My chest feels as if someone has taken a hammer to my breast plate. Seeing him covered in blood has to be the scariest thing I’ve ever witnessed.

  “I’m sorry,” he hiccups, “I stopped paying attention.”

  I shake my head, breathing deeply in relief. My nose burns and my fangs begin to descend, but I halt the reaction to the blood bath surrounding us, trying to find and focus on another scent. There is only the smell of blood. The scent has soaked into the very dirt I kneel in.

  Everett curls against me, drawing his already mending leg upwards. One of his arms slips around my neck as I rock his sobbing form back and forth. The sounds he makes are devastating, conveying utter heartbreak and pure terror. My heart hurts. How long has he been out here, trapped and chewing at his own limb in an attempt to get free?

  “It’s okay now. I’m here, Everett. I’ve got you.” I mutter nonsense into his ear in an attempt to calm him, and myself. He hiccups, his body shaking.

  “Thanos,” he whines into my neck.

  My fingers dig into his shoulders. What would I have done if when I came for him, he was dead? How would I ever forgive myself for not watching out for him properly?

  How would his family ever forgive me?

  They wouldn’t. The peace we are trying to build would be destroyed. The Vârcolaci would think I was responsible for his death. Maybe I would have been.

  If I’d gone on our walk today, this could have been avoided.

  “I told you to stay on the trails,” I whisper.

  If he’d listened, this could have been avoided.

  “I’m sorry, Thanos; I’m so sorry for everything,” he sobs, pressing his face into my shirt. I sigh, curling myself around him. He is foolish, but he is alive. That is what matters. Everything else, we can deal with later. I’m not even sure anything else matters.

  “Can you walk?” Everett sniffs before using the back of his arm to wipe his nose. He is as naked as the day he was born, covered in blood, dirt, and dead leaves.

  “Yes,” he stutters. Grasping one of my shoulders, he pushes himself to his feet.

  I rise as well, shrugging out of my suit coat and helping him into it. With trembling fingers, he buttons the front around his body. Shaking my head, I bend and catch him under the knees. He yelps, falling into my embrace.

  “I said I can walk,” he says.

  “I have perfect hearing,” I reply. Cradling him against my chest, I start at a brisk pace ba
ck toward the house. With his added weight, a steady run is impossible. The walk will give us a chance to gather our wits.

  “I don’t need you to carry me,” he protests, pressing against my chest. I hold him tighter, my fingers digging into his side and thighs to keep him from escaping.

  “Don’t fuss with me right now, Everett.” Something in my tone makes him go still. Looking down, his chin is pressed against his chest. I sigh when he hiccups. “You scared me,” I quietly admit. I was terrified, truthfully.

  “I was worried when you didn’t come back, thought maybe you had been caught in a trap, but . . . ” I shake my head, my throat closing. But . . . by god— “I wasn’t expecting that.” The blood, his hostility, the tears once he was finally free. The combination of the three was so unexpected, I am surprised I was about to help him at all.

  “I’m sorry, Thanos,” he repeats, another hiccup shaking his chest and I squeeze him against my body, holding him tightly. He shivers and my heart constricts.

  What can I possibly say to make him understand how terrifying it was to see him hurt? Is there an emotion that can properly describe my fear, panic and dismay in one word? Is there an expression that can properly convey how angry, disappointed and yet happy I am in this very moment?

  “Everett . . . ” I don’t have anything to say that isn’t going to be rife with anger, panic, and anguish. Bowing my head, I press my lips against his temple. He turns into the touch, his fingers twisting in my shirt. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  That seems like the safest thing to say. It is also the truest of everything I am feeling at the moment. I am beyond thankful that there isn’t any lasting damage, that he isn’t seriously hurt or worse . . . dead.

  “Thanos—” his voice is soft. His wide blue eyes are wet with fresh tears. “—thank you for coming for me. I was really scared.” The hand in my shirt tightens as he presses his face into my collarbone.

  I swallow hard, feeling my heart clench as I look toward the lights in the distance. “You’re safe now.” Thank God. “Let’s just get you home.”