“He loves me,” Anton said.
“He said as much last night,” Takashi replied.
The temperature in the room dropped. One of the gray-banded humans shivered. When Anton glanced over his shoulder at Takashi, his eyes were glowing deep red. His frown had the intensity of a snapped support beam. “I do not need you to tell me what I already know.”
“But you are trying to understand Seamus, aren’t you? For some reason, he’s obsessed with Zack. He doesn’t want what he normally wants from a mortal with him, does he?”
With a blur of speed that Takashi didn’t catch, Anton went from standing beside the fire to holding Takashi by the throat. He shoved him against the chair hard enough that Takashi and the chair went backward with a clatter of sound. In his other hand, he had a burning piece of firewood, and he brought the flame close to Takashi’s eye.
“You areveryclever,” Anton said with an impassively cold voice, “but invasive. Many have tried to expand the cracks between us, and we only become stronger for the effort. I love Seamus deeper than you could possibly understand, let alone feel.”
Rather than struggle, Takashi stilled, fighting with his muscles for a sense of calm. Every word was a roll of the dice, but he had to keep rolling. He had to try. “I love Roger. I am falling in love with Zack night by night. They are as different as the moon and the tide, but they are mine, and I am theirs. Do not tell me I know nothing of love.”
Takashi gripped Anton’s wrist. Touch heightened a vampire’s ability to read. He unwound his mental shields and let himself feel the terror for his loved ones that he had been resisting since Seamus stepped through the hotel door.
Slowly, Anton withdrew. He tossed the firewood back into the hearth and started for the door. He paused and said, “Drink what you want of the gray bands. Then the boy here will take youback to your room. Go anywhere else, and I will put embers in worse places than your eye.”
Then he walked away. The room wasn’t any warmer for his absence.
Takashi took a long moment, then rose. He set the chair upright.Did I win that round? Or am I completely fucked?
CHAPTER 7
The planning session had gone well, but the Wrights and Josefina needed until dusk the next night to enact their portions of preparations. The impending time felt like Roger would have to wait for eternity, but he couldn’t rush into the raid. Getting stuck in the same trap that Zack and Takashi were currently held in wouldn’t help any of them.
Kit and Vincent would need something more than greasy bar food and takeout to keep them fed, so Roger made a stop at a grocery store on his way back. Dawn was less than an hour away, and his arms were full of bags when he knocked on the back door of the Last Deal. He tapped out a rhythm from a 1960s punk song, one both he and Nathaniel thought was ridiculous.
“About damn time,” Nathaniel grumbled as he opened the door. He started taking the bags from him.
“I’ve got it,” Roger said.
“Just give them over.” Nathaniel continued grabbing the bags. “The she-devil kept pounding on the front door until I let her in. Was about to text you, but they haven’t been talking long.”
“They?”
“Better see for yourself.”
Before Roger could ask for answers, Nathaniel was halfway up the stairs the stairs toward his apartment. Roger locked the back door and then made his way into the bar.
Somehow, without the patrons, the bar remained cozy. The faux fireplace still had a crackling blaze, but the digital flames provided little illumination. The sconce lighting would have been considered dim for mortals, but it was bright enough for Roger to see plainly. All but one of the tables had their chairs on top.
Candide sat at a table in the center of the room. She had her hair down, something she never did, and it had a deep honey glow. Typically, she prided herself on her immaculate fashion, but she’d dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. AT-shirt.
In doing so, she reminded him of the nights centuries ago when she was newly immortal and lonely and hoping he would be more than a friend. He had disappointed her on those nights. Women held no romantic or sexual attraction for him. But he and Candide had formed a friendship rather than give way to animosity, an enduring relationship they both treasured.
Across from her was Kit. They were in better shape, though they held a hand to their stomach and were still pale from blood loss. The softness of their youthful features had melted a fraction. In their other hand, they had a red collar with a crest tag. The round steel piece had Candide’s crest on it, a stag with a magnificent set of antlers.
Roger lacked the energy to bring any of his social masks to the forefront. The multitude of tiny psychic cuts he’d lived with for so long were unbearable. He’d played his part for so long. Now that he was free, he couldn’t stomach slipping into an old habit with her.
“What’s happening here?” Roger asked.
Candide put her hand on top of Kit’s knee and squeezed. In a gentle voice, she said, “I can handle this if you want.”
“I’ve got it,” Kit whispered. They stood slowly and approached Roger.
Watching them move between the tables, every movement ginger and careful, ripped open Roger’s heart further. They were in pain because he had put them in harm’s way. Had they remained in Taliville, they would’ve been safe. Unhappy, but safe.
Roger had once prided himself on being a terrific master, but he’d never given Kit or Carver the attention he had his pets in the past. He’d paid them, flirted with them, and did more than flirt with Carver on occasion. But he hadn’t been their master.
