Swordfall (The Fall Trilogy, #2)

by Devaux, Olivette

  The water was taking forever to boil. Oblivious, immersed in a morass of self-pity and grief, he was startled when a cold hand touched his shoulder.

  “Hey, Sean. What’s wrong?”

  Sean jumped, hitting the intruder as he pushed off to gain some space.

  A loud shout split the air.

  “Sean?” Adrian’s hand was on his neck and he was backing away, with his other hand up in a conciliatory gesture. “It’s okay, it’s just me!”

  Sean’s heart beat so hard against the wall of his chest he thought Adrian could hear it. He panted, staring at Adrian Rios. “Sorry,” he rasped, and realized his throat was raw. “I didn’t know anyone was here.” He was still clutching his snotty paper towel in his other hand. “I... I didn’t hit you, did I?”

  “You did,” Adrian said with a small smile. “You didn’t get my Adam’s apple, so all’s well that ends well.”

  “You’re home?” Sean blurted out.

  “In the flesh.” Adrian nodded. “I kept an eye out for the weather. I have no more client appointments scheduled today, so I figured I’d come home early and avoid the traffic snarl. I can catch up on reading my journals from home.” He gave Sean a curious once-over. “Are you home sick? You must’ve missed the garage opening while you were in the shower. And you don’t look too happy. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Yeah, right.” Adrian sighed. “Have you had lunch yet? It’s after two and I bet you didn’t eat. Let me heat up some leftovers.”

  Being taken care of felt nice, even though it was just Adrian. When he listened to Sean, he listened with his whole being. After having been ignored and avoided for over a week, it was a nice change of pace. Within a minute, Sean was seated at the kitchen counter, his bare legs swinging from a tall, spinning barstool. He leaned into its padded back, watching the way Adrian moved. His economy of motion while fighting was no different from the measured steps of microwaving their lunch and serving it out on small plates. The scent of melted cheese and oregano tickled Sean’s nose, and he heard his stomach roar in anticipation.

  “Here’s your lasagna. Do you want to get dressed first?”

  “No,” Sean said. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was. The house is warm enough too, warmer than... you know, than our apartment was.” His voice hitched on the word “our” and he cast his eyes down, fighting hard to stave off another emotional outburst. He felt volatile, as though any excuse would do. He shut his eyes and drew a deep breath.

  “Okay. Eat first, then,” Adrian said in a neutral voice, as though he didn’t notice, even though Sean was sure Adrian did notice. Noticing people’s emotions was his profession.

  When the food was gone, Adrian collected the plates and put them in the dishwasher. “Tea?”

  Sean nodded.

  Adrian reheated the water in the kettle and prepared a whole pot with leaves in it. He sat across from Sean again. “I think you should talk about it.”

  Sean’s gaze traveled up Adrian’s long-fingered, slender hands and the sinewy arms that disappeared into the racked-up sleeves. His muscles were lightly defined under his turtleneck sweater. Sean’s eyes took in his warm, dark brown eyes, the sculpted nose, and generous lips. Adrian was relaxed the way a tiger was relaxed, existing in a state of balanced tension that allowed him do just about anything.

  “Asbjorn seems to be breaking up with me.” It was hard to say those words aloud, even quietly. It made Sean feel the hoarseness in his throat from the kiai shout he let loose only half an hour ago.

  Adrian lifted his eyebrows. “What gives you that impression?”

  Sean flushed. This was private. He didn’t kiss and tell. Then again, he didn’t get kissed much anymore.... “We haven’t been intimate since Denmark.”

  Adrian filed the information away. “That’s, what. Three weeks?” If Adrian was surprised, he didn’t show it.

  “Yeah. I... it’s probably my fault, actually.” Sean sighed, running his hand through his quickly drying hair.

  “Why do you think this is your fault?” Adrian inquired.

  This time Sean met his eyes. “Remember that conversation about how being married would give us all kinds of legal protection? Especially with that nut on the loose? I discussed it with Jeff. He suggested I just bring it up, so I texted Bjorn, asking. He got the text and all, but... he refuses to discuss it. He really hasn’t shown any interest in me since. And he won’t talk to me. Won’t look me in the eye.” Sean was drawn into those hooded, sultry coffee-colored eyes behind their veil of impossibly long eyelashes. “He... he even took to sleeping on the sofa.”

  To his utter consternation, Sean felt his eyes fill with tears again. He turned away from Adrian, blinking hard, but to no avail. The embarrassment of being ditched without explanation – by his first serious love – suddenly made him angry.

  “Well, whatever. Two can play that game.”

  Sean grimaced as he heard the bitter pain of rejection in his own voice.

  “Something isn’t right.” Adrian’s voice cut through the echo of Sean’s pain. “This situation feels incomplete. We have absolutely no idea what’s on Asbjorn’s mind.”

  Sean reached for a tissue and blew his nose. “If something’s not right, why the fuck won’t he talk to me about it?”

  “We’ll find out. Don’t jump to conclusions just yet, all right?” Adrian poured their tea and touched his Bluetooth. “Call Don.”

  THE PREDICTED SNOW gave Don an excuse to leave the office early. He motored home through the narrow, tree-lined streets, turned into his driveway, and parked the SUV next to Adrian’s Porsche.

  So it had finally happened.

  He shook his head in disbelief. Those two were so right for one another. He wished Asbjorn would talk to him, but every time Don tried to bring up what happened on his hunting trip or the way Asbjorn was pushing Sean away, the ice doors had slammed shut. Then he got to see Asbjorn’s well-formed back and the sight of Asbjorn walking away – away from him and from his prying questions and his unvoiced concerns.

  Don knew Asbjorn “had taken care of” Frank Pettel, but he didn’t know exactly how it went down. The change in Asbjorn’s behavior since that day was apparent, and it wasn’t going away. Even though Adrian hadn’t been in on the plan in the beginning, he was smart enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together and had figured it out for himself. Don and Adrian had a brief discussion along the lines of “loose lips sink ships,” but it soon became clear that the silence was doing Asbjorn and Sean more harm than good. Don even considered telling Sean, but the fewer people who knew of Asbjorn’s corrective action, the better.

  He’d have to find some other way to make Asbjorn open up.

  Don shrugged out of his gray woolen coat. He yanked off the hated tie, kicked his shoes off, and walked toward the hushed voices he heard in the kitchen.

  He honed in on Adrian whose black mop of hair was unruly as ever, but who had his arms wrapped around himself as though to ward off a chill. Adrian looked like he retreated into himself as he watched Sean pace around the kitchen island, fuming.

  “If he wanted to break up, you’d think he’d at least tell me! I always figured Asbjorn was one of those straightforward, stand-up guys who’d tell you what’s what. But did he? Nooooo.” Sean gesticulated, throwing his arms around in helpless frustration. “He’s an asshole. That’s my only explanation for it. He’s afraid to say he doesn’t want to get married, and I totally drove him away!” Sean slammed his fist onto the polished granite of the kitchen island.

  Disturbed as he was by Sean’s distress, Don bit back a grin when Sean had to shake the pain out of his hand.

  “Have you tried talking to him?” Adrian asked.

  “Yeah. He keeps avoiding me and tuning me out. He just sleeps and studies on the sofa, or keeps fussing with his sword. Now I get the sword is the last thing he has that was Tiger’s after the fire, but... hey. Maybe that’s what’s bothering him. Maybe he lost more important t
hings than he’s letting on.”

  “He certainly lost a lot in this affair,” Don said, unable to keep still anymore. “He’s in pain, Sean.”

  Sean spun at the sound of Don’s voice. “Don!” He eyed him up and down with fierce eyes, as though he was assessing the man hidden under the suit of his standard lawyer uniform.

  Don felt the assessing gaze and stirred with barely suppressed discomfort.

  “I lost a lot too,” Sean said in a voice that was low and somehow protracted, as though he had to force the words. “At least he’s got the two of you.”

  “Meaning what, Sean?” Adrian drifted up behind Sean, his hands settling on his shoulder, rubbing them, soothing.

  “Meaning you two slept with him, and when he ditches me, he still has you two. Which is good, because I’m obviously unable to make him feel any better. He doesn’t even notice my fucking existence.” Sean narrowed his eyes and leaned into Adrian’s warm hands. Feeling his touch, so caring and human, was a balm on his soul. A balm on his bruised ego, too.

  A sudden flash of inspiration passed over his torn face. “Maybe we just need to even the scales a bit!” Sean said. There was enthusiasm now, and energy, like he knew exactly what would restore balance to his torn little world.

  Sean was a man with a plan.

  He leaned into Adrian and met Don’s opaque gaze. “Maybe if you guys sleep with me too, and if Asbjorn finds out, then he’ll, you know, he’ll be pushed to make up his mind.”

  “Make up his mind about what, Sean?” Don asked in a level voice that lacked enthusiasm.

  “About whether he even wants me. And if he does, the whole situation will have balance to it. It will be like ‘eye for an eye.’ And if he doesn’t....” Sean inhaled, wiping his hair out of his dry red eyes. “If he doesn’t, then at least I’ll know, and he’ll know too.”

  Don shot an incredulous look at Adrian, who let go of Sean’s shoulders and took one step back.

  “That’s possibly the most destructive idea I have heard yet,” Adrian whispered.

  Sean turned toward the sound. “You asshole. Had you not dragged him into your bed to begin with, this might have gone down differently.” He swallowed and met Adrian’s eyes with a hard stare. “He’s the only person I’ve ever loved like that, you know. I thought we would go on forever. And now he’s gone.” He jutted his chin out in a stubborn gesture and cocked his hip to the side, taking a strutting step toward Adrian. “What, I’m not pretty enough? I am not good for you either? Not for him, not for you two... not for anyone or anything.” Sean balled his hands into fists.

  Don heard grave intent in Sean’s voice and slid right behind him. “Don’t do this, Sean. We should talk, sure, but if you hit Adrian, I will not let it slide.”

  Don’s hands landed on Sean’s shoulders in an effort to stop him, but Sean launched himself at Adrian, grasped the back of his neck, and pulled him into a desperate, needy kiss.

  THE BITTER WIND THREATENED to freeze Asbjorn’s tearing eyes together as he pedaled into it, making his way over the Longfellow Bridge. It was cold, so cold even he – who didn’t mind rolling in fresh snow bare-skinned – found the temperature oppressive. The frost bit through his Thinsulate gloves and they felt, for once, inadequate.

  Sudden concern for Sean broke through the darkness in his heart. Sean was his sunshine and felt the cold so much faster than he did. Asbjorn frowned into the onrush of chill air and diesel exhaust, hoping Sean saw reason and took the bus this time around.

  His sunshine.

  Guilt over Sean and guilt over spilled blood all jumbled and rolled up into one untidy wave of murky water. It suffused him, chilled him, flooded through him. When was the last time he called Sean that? When was the last time he pulled his head out of his butt and got over his stupid nightmares and memories of pirates and heaving seas and fresh blood that melted pristine snow? He was no good, apparently.

  How he missed Sean! How he wished to rekindle the embers of their fire – yet what he’d done he had done for Sean, and every time his hands touched Sean’s smooth, flawless skin, the image of snow appeared in his mind. Snow soaked by a crimson wave of blood.

  Staining it.

  Spraying it.

  Melting it.

  A residual metallic tang of blood still sat on the back of his tongue.

  He swerved, avoiding a dark patch in the snow.

  Murder.

  Preemptive strike.

  Corrective action.

  Fixing the system’s mistake.

  All those concepts applied, but so did murder. When he had killed in the Navy, he’d just pulled a trigger and a pirate fell off the prow of a stolen ship. Asbjorn even got paid for it. It was part of his job. He never saw the pirate bleed, never heard him cry out over the crashing of the waves.

  So impersonal. So clean.

  Taking a life was never an easy thing – that much he’d been taught, and he accepted the necessity of his actions. The whole Frank Pettel business might have been a necessary elimination of an imminent threat, but it was different in nature. Up close and personal, he had smelled the man’s scent, the hot spray of his blood. He should have given him more of a warning. He should have let him draw first.

  Maybe.

  Had he done that, maybe he wouldn’t be biking across this bridge right now.

  Asbjorn couldn’t help feeling stained. Unworthy. As much as he looked forward to the heat in the house, he felt his place was outside of it, paying his penance in the cold, biting wind blowing in off the sea.

  He walked his bicycle inside the garage, relieved to see Sean’s bike and surprised to see both cars. He dusted the snow off his jacked, jogged up the stairs, and shucked off his boots.

  Then he heard it. A gasp.

  A gasp and a whimpering moan.

  He knew that voice.

  Slowly, he inched his way into the kitchen, where he saw them – all three of them. Don was still dressed in his dark wool suit, and Adrian wore his customary jeans and a turtleneck.

  Sean wore both of them. He was sandwiched between the two men with naught but a towel sliding down his hips, and his and Adrian’s lips were firmly locked.

  Asbjorn spun away from the sight as something alien stirred in his loins. In the back of his mind, a jealous thought fluttered into existence for a brief moment – then it died. His conscious mind told him he should have been angry, yet the familiar roar of outraged blood failed to rise to his ears.

  Only the vast emptiness in the pit of his stomach expanded, making him feel as though he was falling through space. The ground retreated from under his feet. He stumbled.

  Sean deserved better than the likes of him. Someone pure and sweet, full of love and joy, unpestered by gruesome images of gore spilt in the untrodden snow of a backstreet alley. Sean deserved unwavering loyalty, not lies and deceptions and... and the stain of blood upon his lover’s hands. He could never unburden his soul, for that would spill that secret blood on the sheets between them, tainting all that was good within that exceptional and perfect man.

  Asbjorn was no longer worthy of Sean.

  THEY ALL HEARD THE door close shut. Sean felt more than saw Asbjorn stumble on the way to the other room. He knew Asbjorn must have seen them, and all of a sudden, his former theory of how to capture Asbjorn’s attention no longer fit the given situation. Maybe this was the worst idea ever.

  “Crap,” Adrian whispered. “Go after him, Sean!”

  Sean just stood between the two men as though frozen. The guilt of his intended action paralyzed him.

  Within a moment, Asbjorn appeared with his hands full. He was on his way back out. Their eyes met. Asbjorn’s gaze was pained with longing.

  “Asbjorn...!” Sean’s hand extended toward his distant lover.

  ASBJORN’S FACE FELL. He was no longer worthy. Apparently Sean had moved on. He chose to believe that, rather than entertain the thought that Sean was not entirely perfect, for only true perfection would have been worthy of Asbjorn’
s pain, of Asbjorn’s sacrifice.

  He shook his head and turned his back. His books bulged in his backpack – and his pocket hid a perfect circle of amber, set in silver, bound in a hand-wrought silver chain. He would leave Sean behind, but he would always treasure the amber necklace he had given Sean, and which he was now taking back.

  It was the last piece of sunshine in his life, and at this moment, he felt like the darkness would never lift. Sean must have pieced it all together, and now he knew what manner of a man Asbjorn truly was: violent, ruthless, and cold.

  No more marriage proposals.

  No more sunshine.

  Asbjorn heaved his backpack onto his shoulders, wheeled his bike out of the garage and straddled it.

  “Asbjorn!” He heard Sean’s voice. Perhaps he imagined it, but there might have been a note of despair, or regret. He pushed off the sidewalk and pedaled into the snow, not looking back.

  CHAPTER 11

  Asbjorn stepped into the elevator and pushed a button. Hard, reflective stainless steel covered the walls around him, and the melted snow dripped off his boots onto the industrial carpet underfoot. He leaned against the wall and looked into the imperfect mirror on the other side. Strands of pale hair were stuck like a grotesque fringe under the edge of his knit cap. His blue eyes seemed empty of humor and happiness; only the bitter Arctic wind howled within. Even he could see that, except he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  The elevator dinged and stopped. Asbjorn stumbled out and to the right. His feet knew the way toward the familiar door. He knocked.

  It took a third, much louder knock before he heard anyone on the other side. He heard the peephole cover scrape open, the lock clicked, and Nell opened the door.

  “Asbjorn!” She looked him up and down, and he realized his clothing and his backpack were still covered in thick clumps of melting snow. “Stay right there,” she said with brisk efficiency, returning with a broom. Standing still as he was told, he tolerated her fussing with unaccustomed patience. “I was writing,” she said. “I almost missed you knocking on the door, and it’s too early for Dud to come home.”