Vigil (26 page)

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.