you love Donte Fedeltà?”
“I do. Very much.”
“That’s highly interesting to me. You don’t seem the undead
groupie type.”
“It’s complicated.” Adin frowned.
“Believe me, I understand.” Tuan glanced down at Adin’s tea.
“Do you want something stronger than that?”
Adin shook his head. “I’m taking pain meds for my arm.”
Boaz returned to the room. “I made the call. The cab will be
here shortly.”
The three of them headed for the back of the house where
174 Z.A. Maxfield
they could hear soft music playing. When they got there,
they found Edward and Bran on a small window seat full of
overstuffed cushions overlooking the garden, fast asleep. Edward
had slung a careless arm around Bran, who snored softly. Even
as they watched, the climbing vine outside the window seemed
to grow and twine around the window frame, draping down to
shade them. Maybe Bran was right. It seemed that fairy tales
carried more than a kernel of truth. Adin’s throat tightened.
Brothers.
“They look like brothers,” Adin whispered.
Tuan sighed. “Ah,
damn.
This is going to require a lot more
gardening than I have time for.”
Adin dropped his key card on the tiny desk and wheeled
his luggage into the closet, where he automatically emptied its
contents and hung up his suit bag. He eyed the newest of his
belongings, an elegant, shiny black walking stick with a silver
skull handle and a lethal sword hidden inside that he’d received
as a gift from Tuan. It was so much like the one used by Moriarty
in the Sherlock Holmes television series that he’d annoyed Tuan
and Edward by laughing out loud. While it was true he knew how
to handle a sword without killing himself—from spending the
time with a Kendo master at Donte’s home in Spain—it wasn’t
likely that he’d survive against even a moderately experienced
opponent.
But it made him look so very cool
.
Adin stood in front of the mirror, holding it, playing with it
a little a la Fred Astaire, until he heard a knock on the door. He
called out, and when he heard Boaz’s voice on the other side he
opened it.
Boaz entered and looked at the cane in his hand. “You are
going to get yourself killed with that thing.”
“That’s what I told Tuan, but he seems to think I should have
it. Maybe he realizes that I’ll throw it to you and run away.”
“See that you do,” Boaz ordered.
“Dinner?” Adin asked. Boaz was silent for so long that Adin
peered closely at him and asked, “What?”
Boaz let out a heavy sigh and dropped into the lounge chair
next to Adin’s bed. It was as if his spirit just left him, all his masks
dropped away, and he was wholly and completely unguarded.
Adin had the uncomfortable feeling he was seeing the real Boaz
for the very first time. “
Gods
. I’m tired.”
“I could order in…” When Boaz didn’t answer for a while
Adin frowned. “Do you feel as if you’re affected by Bran as well?”
176 Z.A. Maxfield
“Of course not,” Boaz snapped.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Would it matter if I were affected by Bran?” Boaz asked him
roughly.
“Yes it would matter. Of course it would. What do you mean?
If you couldn’t be around Bran I certainly wouldn’t ask you to be.
I certainly wouldn’t—”
“Since when do you ever
ask
?” Boaz rose and turned to him
with the air of a man who needed to get something off his chest.
“Since when does it matter to you what anyone else wants or
needs?”
“
Excuse me
?” Adin stepped back
“You always do whatever you want. If we don’t like it, if it’s
dangerous or stupid or just plain inconsiderate, you dance out of
reach, move on, go home to your sister or your friends or your
little house and your books.”
“What are you
talking
about?”
Boaz gave Adin a shove that nearly knocked him over. “
You
are Donte’s weakness.”
When he regained his footing, Adin grabbed his key card off
the desk and shoved it into his jeans pocket. “Then Donte is safe
because I would never, ever hurt him.”
“The hell he’s safe. That’s just exactly
it
. The Donte Fedeltà
who has survived for nearly five centuries can be broken as easily
as your arm, Adin. He willingly undertook the care of a boy who
is toxic to him, for
you
. He sends his bodyguards away from his
side to watch out for
you
. You don’t have to hurt him. All you have
to do is continue on as you are, and the inevitable consequences
of your existence will
kill
him.”
Adin drew in a shocked breath. “That’s a hell of a thing to
say, Boaz.”
“That doesn’t make it any less true. You leave him open to
attack by his enemies, you bring something poisonous into his
home, you refuse to commit to him, to be his partner in every
Vigil
177
way—”
“Because I don’t want to be turned? Because I don’t want to
lose my humanity?”
“Humanity is vastly overrated. Donte adores you. He’s beyond
loyal to you. If he allowed anyone—even you—to see how much
he loves you, he’d be completely vulnerable to his enemies. He’s
a true prince among ordinary men. I don’t know how you define
humanity, Tredeger. I truly don’t.”
“He has no faith in me,” Adin whispered.
“That’s right. He doesn’t. Why would he?” Boaz turned on
his heel and headed for the door. He opened it and then looked
back. “What have you done that didn’t require one rescue after
another since the day you met?”
The door closed behind Boaz with a metallic snap. After that,
the silence was the deepest Adin had ever known.
Adin woke the next morning before dawn. He wasn’t surprised
at all. Even when he was a kid, if something preyed on his mind,
worry, or guilt, his eyes snapped open right around four a.m., and
he could never get back to sleep.
It didn’t help that he felt spacey and jetlagged. His circadian
rhythms were all messed up. It would be hours before the hotel
staff would lay out the coffee and Danish that comprised the
continental breakfast on his floor, and he was still hungry from
missing dinner.
Even with Boaz’s ugly words from the night before—or
maybe because of them—he couldn’t help dressing warmly
and heading out the door. It meant putting himself in possible
danger. It meant annoying Boaz once more, by giving him the
slip if he’d really come along simply to be his bodyguard.
Adin couldn’t help being a little annoyed as well. He hadn’t
signed on for the lifestyle of a mafia princess. He didn’t want to
live like the offspring of the American president. He was using
a walking stick with a sword in it. He had both a phone, which
178 Z.A. Maxfield
was also a GPS tracker, and a light device that worked like a less
pyrotechnic flash grenade to stun an enemy so Adin could make
an escape. If he had human enemies he was certain Donte would
insist he carry a gun on his person.
As each one of these things became necessary, he lost a little
more of himself. He’d never imagined, even with all his traveling,
that he’d ever have the need for anything more lethal than a pair
of reading glasses. But Boaz had railed at him the previous night
about his stubborn behavior
hurting
Donte. As if by remaining
human he was costing Donte time and energy and resources that
he needed to protect himself. As if he were costing Donte his
health, and his well-being. Even his—for lack of a better term—
life.
Was Boaz right?
He was right about one thing. Donte Feldeltà
was
a prince
among men. And maybe it was past time for Adin to broaden his
definition of humanity.
Adin took the elevator down to the lobby and exited out the
front door. The doorman, dressed for the chill, misty weather,
gave him a tired smile.
“Morning sir.” His breath puffed out in wisps of fog. “Can I
get anything for you?”
“I thought I’d take a walk,” Adin peered at the man’s nametag.
“Kevin. I figured I’d head over to the wharf. By the time I get
there it should just be coming to life.”
“Yes sir, be sure to warm up with some nice, hot coffee and
sourdough bread. Nothing like it.”
“That sounds heavenly.” Adin took a few steps and turned.
“Thank you.”
Adin first headed toward the embarcadero from the hotel on
Post. From there, if he took Hyde Street into the Russian Hill
area, through the neighborhood where Edward’s painted lady
Victorian stood, he would eventually come to the bay at the Hyde
Street pier near his dad’s beloved Balclutha, a short distance from
Fisherman’s Wharf. It was a long walk, hilly, and taxing, but his
Vigil
179
heart soared as he gorged on the unique smell of the city and he
treasured the feel of fog on his skin.
Being back in San Francisco again more than made up for
the energy he needed to expend. He drew its ambience to him
like a cyclone. Out of all the places he’d lived, San Francisco and
his tiny cottage in Bainbridge Island were the only two he’d ever
really called home. San Francisco still held his heart like no place
ever had because he’d spent the happiest, most carefree years of
his life there while his family was still intact.
Maybe that was his problem—the word,
carefree
. He never
expected to spend his life carefree, yet he’d done a considerable
amount of racketing around the globe, putting one mile behind
another, satisfying his intellectual curiosity without ever touching
down and taking on any personal obligations. His home was
cared for in his absence, his job—on hold since he’d purchased
Donte’s journal—had never required the commitment of a true
academic career. He had no wife or family and no one to answer
to but himself, and occasionally, his sister. His relationship with
Donte was new enough that he was still trying to understand
what it would mean.
Adin very much feared that Donte would be happy to
substitute the word
reckless
for the word carefree. He treated Adin
as if he’d travelled the globe, pleasing himself, unattached, free
from the distractions of a normal life, free from worries of an
economic or domestic nature, daring fate to throw what it would
at him,
because he had.
As if Adin were spoiled and thoughtless,
because he was
.
Maybe Boaz was right. Adin knew he didn’t always think
things through, and he rarely asked permission because he’d
never had to make decisions with anyone else in mind.
When he’d first seen Bran, the horror of the situation so
completely eclipsed everything else for him that he made the
decision to get him out of there before he’d taken his next breath.
A young boy—a child really—chained in a basement, fed like an
animal, kept in the darkness, and left there for months to wonder
why.
No
. Taking Bran out of that basement had been the right
180 Z.A. Maxfield
course of action whatever the cost.
But to keep him? To make promises? To adopt him like a pet?
Adin should have asked—not informed—Donte. He should
have weighed his options before he charmed the boy, and bought
him clothes, and made any assurances to him. What did he
think? That they’d be one big happy family, two gay men still
working out their
arrangement
and their slightly mysterious son?
However sincere he’d been, he could never have taken care of
Bran without the protection of both Donte and Santos, without
Boaz’s cooperation. He’d been foolish, and taken everything for
granted. And now Donte was ill, Boaz was angry, and Edward
and Tuan had become involved, all consequences he hadn’t
begun to consider.
Ah, shit.
Boaz was right.
For some reason, maybe because of past disappointment or
maybe from a lack of confidence that he’d hidden from even
himself, he’d been deliberately keeping himself out of Donte’s
reach. Keeping his heart untouchable. Sure he’d been saying all
along that he loved Donte—that Donte was his happiness—and
yet he’d held himself aloof and apart because he believed
true love
was for suckers and fools.
He could almost hear Charles mocking voice.
We’re above all
that Adin. We’re sophisticated men of the world. We don’t need to tell
ourselves lies to get what we want.
Was that simply some shit Charles told him to get him to
accept being treated like a toy? And when had Donte EVER
treated him with that kind of casual disregard?
Adin frowned. There
was
that whole leaving-him-with-Santosto-die affair. Thank heavens Tuan had arrived in the nick of time.
Tuan.