GETHIN
“I’ll drive.I know where we’re going.” Sorley held eye contact until Gethin sighed and handed over the keys.
“If you roll it, the Council won’t be happy.”
The scoff the vampire gave him was contemptuous.
Luckily, Sorley’s driving was competent, if not a little faster than Gethin would have liked.
When they pulled up in front of a large gate set into a high stone wall, Sorley tapped at his phone.
“It’s me.” Then, with a trace of irritation, “Fuck’s sake, all right.” He slid out of the car to press a buzzer in the wall.
Within seconds, the gate began to swing inwards, and Gethin got his first sight of the property belonging to the notorious Dalziel Millar.
“Damn, this is fancy,” he muttered as the vampire directed the car along a winding gravel road between what seemed like acres of lawn and pine forest. He hoped there would be the chance to run in fur; the dense woodland was already calling to him.
Sorley said suddenly, “What’s that sound?” There was a mechanical purring, like an engine being revved in the distance.
Gethin was about to say how should he know when there was a bright flash of silver between two trees, then a motorbike cut across their path in a blur of light and noise. The rider, who was not wearing any kind of protective clothing, whooped as they shot past, then disappeared again between more trees.
“The fuck?” Gethin blinked through the windscreen but the motorbike’s headlamp had temporarily dazzled him, making it too dark to see much even with his exemplary eyesight. No street lamps here, not even a suburban hint of solar-powered lights on sticks to line the pathways. He figured anyone invited here was unlikely to struggle in the dark.
Sorley chuckled. “I have my suspicions. It would appear my sire has become somewhat whipped recently.” He slowed the vehicle, coming to a stop at the foot of a sweep of stone steps.
Gethin didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant, because a door opened at the top of the steps and a lithe, dark-haired man ran down them. Sorley was out of the vehicle in an instant, quivering with anticipation, his scent overwhelminglyneedyall of a sudden. Gethin unravelled his tall frame and followed more slowly.
The man clasped Sorley’s shoulders firmly and squeezed. “You look well, my friend. You are fully recovered, I presume?” His gaze narrowed as he searched Sorley’s face for any evidence of his ordeal. Presumably satisfied with what he saw, he turned neatly and offered his hand to Gethin.
“Hughes. It is good to finally meet you in person. I hope the journey wasn’t too arduous.” His hazel eyes flickered towards Sorley. Gethin’s lips twitched.
“It’s good to meet you too, Millar. And no, it was fine. I only let him drive the last half a dozen miles.”
“I’m a perfectly good driver!” Sorley protested indignantly.
“Apart from that time with the carriage and pair in Lincolnshire, the Hansom cab debacle, the Mercedes Benz you rolled, my favourite Aston Mart—”
“Oh my God, Dalziel, enough! I get easily distracted. I have a very active brain. I can’t always concentrate.” Sorley scowled. “Besides, I only dinged the Aston Martin. It was fine after a re-spray.” He waved a hand in the direction they’d arrived. “It’s not me you need to worry about right now. There’s a crazy person on a motorcycle tearing through the grounds. They damn near took off the front wing.”
Gethin snorted. “They did not. But it did give us a start. Friend of yours?”
Millar’s expression softened. “That would be Charley. I believe you’ve already met him?”
Gethin grinned. “I had heard he’d moved in. I take it he’s proving a handful?”
Millar gave an elegant shrug and his lips turned slightly upwards. “I confess, I am probably a little lenient with the child, but he’s no real trouble. His partner, Luc Bradshaw, is the one who keeps the boy in line.” His smile widened. “For his sins.”
Gethin echoed the smile. “Oh I dunno. Something tells me Bradshaw is more than up to the challenge.”
Sorley made a tsk of annoyance and ducked inside the car to pull out his bags. “I’ll take these in. Eleanor about?”
“It’s three a.m.. Don’t you dare wake her. You know the way to your room.” Dalziel looked appraisingly at Gethin. “Sorley can take you upstairs and show you around. Put Mr Hughes in the Green Room, please.”
“Gethin, please,” said Gethin.
Millar nodded. “Gethin then. I am often accused of being too formal. Naturally, you may call me Dalziel.”
They dumped their bags, then Sorley gave Gethin a brief tour of the main part of the house, excluding the tower rooms in the original castle, explaining they were currently for Dalziel’s son and his partner. “He’s totally ruined, of course,” Sorley said sniffily, referring to Charley. “Seems to have Dalziel wrapped around his little finger. And his golden balls mutt of a boyfriend. The child will be twenty soon. It’s about time he got a job and began pulling his weight.”
