them seem kind of big.”
Adin smiled at him as he pulled out his phone. “I imagine
you’ve still got some growing to do.”
“You didn’t get anything for Donte.” Bran looked a little
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concerned, as if he thought Donte would pout if they returned
with nothing for him.
“Au contraire, mon ami, feast your eyes on this!” Adin held
up a small leather case and opened it to reveal a pair of antique
opera glasses decorated with dramatic repoussé images of dogs
hunting an eight-point buck. “Very sportive, and charming for
the opera.”
“Vampires don’t exactly need binoculars.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Adin assured him. “It’s high
time to point out that Donte has been a little shortsighted of
late, and I’m thinking this, and a gentle note to that effect, will
do the trick.”
Bran stopped walking and turned to him. “You really love
him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“But he’s inhuman—”
“He’s nothing of the kind.” Adin kept walking so Bran had to
continue along beside him, like it or not. “For some reason I find
him more human than the men I know who haven’t lost their
humanity. He… longs for it, when others take it for granted.”
“How can you love someone who left you to die?”
Adin controlled his irritation. If he didn’t understand it, how
was he going to explain it to a young boy, even one who had
a window into his head? “Donte is the only person I know—
besides my parents—who never has lied to me once.”
“But he did, I know he did. About some things.”
“He never lied about something important to me.” Adin used
the preprogrammed speed dial on his phone to call Boaz. “Not
once. Even when it would have been in both our best interests.”
Bran remained silent while Adin gave their location to Boaz
and asked for a ride. As far as he was concerned, Boaz was going
to have to earn his trust all over again, if he’d ever had it in the
first place.
78 Z.A. Maxfield
“Thank you,” Bran told him quietly while they waited. “I
don’t know why you bought me from those men, taking my side
and removing the chains. But I’ll never forget it. Or these.” He
indicated the bags of clothes both men carried.
“What happened to you was wrong, Bran. Whatever you are.”
“Maybe,” Bran agreed. He picked his way along the street
next to Adin thoughtfully. Adin saw uncertainty and unasked
questions in his brown eyes.
“No maybe about it. There isn’t a civilized person on earth
who wouldn’t have wanted to help you. I was there and I could.
That’s all there was to it.”
Bran didn’t look up. Adin wondered what could be wrong for
a minute until understanding dawned.
Adin nudged Bran’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you a secret.”
Bran sighed. “What?”
“I’m glad I did it because I like you. You’re a terrific kid. I’m
very, very glad to know you, Bran. I feel lucky that I was there
that night to help you.”
Bran flushed with pleasure.
“Just so you know, though… ” Bran cleared his throat. “So
there’s no misunderstanding. I fancy girls.”
“Oh, do you now?” Adin laughed until his lungs hurt. When
he finally got a grip, he patted Bran on his slim shoulder. “I guess
that’s a good thing because no self-respecting gay man would go
out with you dressed in these clothes.”
Boaz opened the trunk of a midnight blue sedan with tinted
windows that Adin had never seen before, and helped him and
Bran load their purchases. His luggage was already inside it,
and Adin guessed that was Boaz’s unsubtle way of letting him
know he’d been moved from his current hotel. Cars honked
and swerved around them. Adin caught a glimpse of Bran, who
looked reluctant to part with his purchases, even if only to place
them into the trunk. He pulled the bag with the overcoat in it
back out and handed it to the boy.
“In case you’re cold.”
Bran grinned at him. “Thanks.”
Adin felt absurdly pleased with himself. He turned to Boaz,
who was already heading for the driver’s side door of the car.
“Are we going somewhere?”
“Is there some reason you shouldn’t? Santos and Harwiche
both know where you were staying.”
“Yes, but they didn’t do anything about it for two days.”
“Doesn’t mean they won’t…” Boaz opened the door of the
car and got in. “Sir.”
Adin gave up and entered the car on the rear passenger side.
Bran smiled at him from the other seat in the back. Boaz keyed
the ignition, and Bran leaned over to whisper, “Do you think it’s
all right to go with him like this?”
“It’s fine.” Adin met Boaz’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Are
you allowed to tell us where we’re going?”
“You’re not being kidnapped. Not this time, anyway. Donte
thought we might be more comfortable in a private home.”
“I guess that depends on whose home it is, doesn’t it?”
Boaz didn’t answer. Instead, he took the city streets to the
perpherique then found the highway south east, eventually
80 Z.A. Maxfield
leaving Paris behind. He put in a CD of classical music and
continued to drive.
“What about Donte?” Bran asked after about twenty minutes.
“He’ll take the train later,” Boaz replied. “He keeps a house
near Vichy, and the train there will be fast and comfortable.”
Adin grimaced. “Is that why we’re taking a car?”
“I’ve truly missed your sense of humor Dr. Tredeger.”
“Shit,” Adin muttered.
Bran’s face held wariness. “Is there something wrong?”
“Boaz is always at his most charming when I’m not going to
like the outcome of whatever little adventure we’re having.”
“You wound me, sir.” Boaz said cheekily into the rearview
mirror. “I’m merely relocating you and your charge to a rather
attractive country home, and Donte will meet us there later,
probably sometime before midnight. Did you have a pleasant
morning shopping?”
“Yes. It was very pleasant when the rain let up. Bran found
a number of outlandish vintage garments he’s determined to
wear.”
“So naturally you indulged him.”
“Naturally.” Adin grinned at Bran. “They will look very fine
on him, and Donte’s eyeballs will explode.”
Boaz eyed him briefly in the mirror but said nothing. While
Adin watched, Bran took out his coat and pulled it over him
like a blanket. He turned his face to the window, and soon the
motion of the car lulled him to sleep. Even Adin was beginning
to drift, so he found a comfortable way to rest his head and just
let the motion and the music take over. Whatever Donte had in
mind, whatever Santos was up to, or Boaz had up his sleeve, sleep
beckoned, so Adin let himself succumb. His last thought—as
always—was of Donte’s face. The handsome brown eyes, liquid
and rich, haunted Adin’s dreams and filled his heart with longing.
More than anything in that quiet moment before sleep, he wanted
Donte’s strong arms around him.
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Donte would have laughed at that.
Adin held his wineglass and meandered from room to room in the
sprawling country house, searching for the face of the man that had haunted
his thoughts, his every waking hour since he’d gotten to Princeton. The smell
of wine and other, stronger drinks and cigarettes assailed him, even though
the host required his guests to smoke outdoors. Most of the guests were men,
and nearly all were older. Still, no one said a word when he’d picked a glass
of red wine off the tray of a passing waiter. Adin guessed that Charles’s
crowd played at bored sophistication and the occasional underage young man
was more of a cause for celebration than censure with many of them. Adin
ignored the predatory and inquisitive glances thrown his way. He was here at
Charles’s invitation, not merely because he was young or pretty, but because
Charles respected his intelligence and was interested in him personally.
People passed by with food as well, with tiny plates of pungent tidbits,
cheese puffs and lettuce wraps. Crab Rangoon. Adin ignored them, because
butterflies filled his stomach with anticipation. When he finally caught sight
of Charles Holmesby his heart soared. Charles’s eyes had been on him,
Adin could tell. While Adin had been searching for Charles, Charles had
been watching him with a pleased look on his face, or so it seemed when he’d
finally found him.
Charles came over to talk to him. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
Adin took a fortifying sip of his drink. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I wasn’t entirely certain you were ready for what you’ve been asking me
for. I didn’t want to presume.”
Adin deliberately misunderstood. “Ready to drink wine? Ready to listen
to inane party chatter?”
“You know what I mean.” Charles studied him as if he were trying to
see something written on Adin’s skin. Adin was annoyed with it, as though
he were looking for a ‘best by’ date or a tag that said, ‘Do not open until
Christmas.’
“Stop that, I’m not inexperienced if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“It’s not that. I imagine you’ve had hundreds of lovers.” The smile that
played on Charles’s mouth told Adin he believed no such thing.
82 Z.A. Maxfield
“I know, who I am, Charles. I know what I want. From the moment I
met you I—”
“Not here.” Charles took his hand and led him through the French
doors to a terrace where they could speak more freely.
As soon as they were alone in the shadows Charles pulled Adin to him
and pressed a kiss to his lips. Adin wrapped awkward arms around his
neck and kissed him back hungrily, until his mouth was bruised and he had
beard burn from the scrape of Charles’s cheeks across his young skin.
“You’re the brightest student I’ve ever had in a class. And the youngest. It
says something about you that you lasted when your friend Edward imploded
so quickly.”
“Edward missed his family.”
“What about you?”
“At first I admit I missed my parents. But everything changed when I
started working on your research project.”
Charles smiled. “You like my ancient smut?”
Adin frowned. “Don’t call it smut, Charles.”
Charles ran the tip of a hesitant finger along the skin of Adin’s forearm
where he’d rolled up his sleeves. He turned Adin’s arm over to inspect his
watches. “You wear two timepieces?”
Adin lowered his lashes. “Before I left for school my father gave me his
watch and told me to keep it on Pacific Standard Time so a part of me could
always be with them. I looked at it a lot when I first got here.”
“How sweet.” Charles’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re blushing.”
“You think it’s silly sentimental claptrap.”
“I said I think it’s sweet.” Charles’s face was a study in flirtation. “It’s
fantastically consuming, isn’t it? To know that men in every age have written
of the passion they felt for one another, for comrades in arms. Kings, soldiers,
saints, and prophets? How can you be homesick when you know that you
and I are a part of something that powerful and permanent? That excites
you, doesn’t it?”
Adin preened when Charles included him in his work. “Of course it
does. It’s like peering through a window to history where I can see my deepest
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feelings, my darkest fears, my desperate desires, have been shared by men who
are long dead. I can see to it they’re not marginalized or forgotten. It’s my
chance to resurrect them.”
“You have bright eyes, Adin. Beauty like yours doesn’t always come with
matching intelligence.” Adin peered at Charles to see if he was teasing.
“You just want me to do your grunt work so you can use your paid
assistants for the more glamorous things.”
“No, I mean it; you’re special. Every bit as unique and deep and
thoughtful as the kind of work we seek out.” Charles hesitated, his lips close
to Adin’s ear as he whispered, “I do want to use you. I want to love you, does
that make me very wicked?”
Adin’s cheeks heated and his body tightened with the first stirrings of
real passion. “I don’t think so. No,” Adin told him breathlessly,
“It has to be our secret at the University. I can’t have anyone from the
department—”
“Of course I wouldn’t tell anyone! It’s no one’s business but ours whom
we love.”
“You’re a bold boy, Adin. Do you think you’re ready?”
“
Fortes fortuna adiuvat.”
Adin’s voice didn’t quite work.
Fortune favors the bold.