“He’s cold. Impenetrable. Gives you just enough to believe you stand a chance at gaining his affections.” For as drunk as you were, your assessment seemed spot-on.
“Well,” Lucian said flippantly, “don’t we all have mommy issues?”
I raised my glass to that, but you only glowered at the both of us. Lucian glanced around at the erotic frenzy he’d incited, seeming a little bored by it all. You ignored the entertainments and stared at your dwindling wine like it was the reason for your misery. I doubted you were even aroused, still too preoccupied with being mad at me. I could hardly hear the music above the grunting and groaning, but at least no one was being bled to death. As I was getting lost in observing all the ways in which two or more bodies could fornicate, another round of servers began passing out golden cups.
Drink poison from a cup of gold.
Orcus’s words came back to haunt me.
“For the toast,” Lucian said, noticing my alarm.
I inspected my cup, solid gold with the bloodborn crest on the fluted part. An attendant came by soon after with another bottle of wine to pour. “What kind of wine is this?” I asked. She glanced up, flustered, probably overwhelmed by what was going on around us, but she didn’t seem malicious.
“A dessert wine, sir, sweet with honeyed overtones.”
She poured my glass, then yours and Lucian’s as well as one for Stefan before moving along to the rest of our table. Sensing his attention, I turned and saw Orcus watching me from across the room. He lifted his golden goblet as if to toast me, then gave me a sinister smile.
When it came time for Lucian’s speech, I only pretended to drink my wine, and instead spilled it onto my shirtfront where my breastplate would hide it. The flavor it left on my lips was familiar. Sweet and chalky, it was the same drug I’d been given while imprisoned by Azrael.
“Does it taste funny to you?” I asked.
“No,” you said, but I doubted you’d notice. You were already tanked.
I glanced around the room, trying to determine who might want me dead or at the very least, unconscious. My eyes landed on Mater, engaged in a conversation with the panicborn Grigori named Apate. She caught my eye and her blood-red lips pulled back to reveal sharp, white teeth.
It wasn’t a good indicator of our partnership that the first person I suspected of poisoning me was her.
You’d drunk so muchthat you needed my help in getting back to our rooms in Lucian’s manor. I worried I might buckle under your weight as I led you across the cobblestone courtyard. One of my arms was wrapped around your lower back to support you while the other was free to make a grab for my sword in case we were accosted.
“I’m still mad at you,” you said, slurring your words, and I chuckled because it sounded like something I would say.
“I figured.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Challenged a warborn or asked Lucian to mudras you?”
“Both,” you grumbled as I led you up the winding staircase to our bedroom. All seemed quiet in the house.
“I asked you not to interfere,” I reminded you gently. I didn’t count this as an argument because you were clearly out of it and saying whatever came to mind.
“I will always interfere when it comes to you.”
“Then I’ll have to keep outsmarting you,” I said, opening the door to our rooms.
“Just like Orlando,” you grumbled.
I froze for a moment. You rarely mentioned my past life, though surely you thought about it—him—and Lior as well. Were you holding grudges for the mistakes I might have made in my past life? It didn’t seem fair.
“How did you manage having Lior with you when you went to battle?”
You sat heavily on the edge of the bed. I knelt at your feet and began unlacing your leather sandals, since I doubted you possessed the coordination to do it yourself. My hands lingered on your muscular calves for a moment, massaging them to get the blood flowing. Of course, I wanted to bite you, but I didn’t.
“Lior never fought. He cooked or tended to the wounded. He wasn’t allowed out of the campgrounds without me. He couldn’t even hold a sword properly.” You quieted then, and your thoughts turned inward.
“Well, I can. I was nearly recruited for the Olympics in case you’ve forgotten. And I’m immortal.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re indestructible.” I stood to unbuckle your breastplate and you grabbed my hand. “I worry about you, Vincent.”
