Chapter 30
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Beck
Considering how determined I was to drain every drop of bourbon from the decanter, I probably should’ve skipped the glass altogether.
I’d already refilled it twice and now let it dangle from my fingers, swirling the amber liquid with idle intent.
I’d dragged a chair from the sitting area and planted it in front of the window—the vast pane of glass that had held Zephyr spellbound last night.
I sipped the liquor and looked out, searching for what I’d lost. What I sent away.
My hand throbbed, a reminder of the kind of trickery I’d vowed never to fall for.
I’d come too far to stumble into the pitfalls of my youth, and love was foremost among them.
If nothing had come from a young, idealistic demon pledging himself to an angel except a lesson learned, so be it.
But I wouldn’t ignore my own hard-earned wisdom.
I wouldn’t love Zephyr.
I didn’t.
What had happened between us was a fiction of his design.
He enticed me with his wiles, then strung me along with simpering smiles and good manners.
Never forgetting the please when he asked me to feed him, or the thank you afterward.
Like I was helping him. Doing something meaningful with my dreary existence. Taking care of something precious.
He’d become fragile when I shouted at him, cowed and quivering. I’d been no different than Maslow using words to cut him down, and I’d tossed him out the moment I was through.
Because he deserved it.
He hurt me.
Being made into a fool hurt me.
But now, I wanted him back because the illusion was better than the ugly reality.
Having someone on my arm admiring me, relying on me, was far preferable to this solitude.
I’d enjoyed getting to dote on someone. Especially someone as grateful as Zephyr.
He soaked up every ounce of attention and scrap of affection, then radiated it back onto me.
He took and gave in a perfect circle of trust.
Until I broke it.
No.
He did.
He shattered my faith in him, in us, and fuck… I had wanted there to be an us. I was tired of only me. Always me. Year after year, decade after decade. I made for miserable company.
An hour passed before a barrage of knocks thundered at the door.
I’d ignored the earlier ones, after Colette delayed Zephyr’s return to the Dollhouse for the sake of shouting at me from the hall.
Several curse words, only a few in English, and demands that I come out and deal with my problems rather than foist them off onto her.
But I’d sat.
Here, in this chair, watching the sun rise over Mount Charleston.
And Colette was back.
I’d had her key card deactivated since the last raid on my minibar, or she would likely be in my face already.
Ignoring her was impossible with the ruckus she was raising, though. My neighbors would be calling the front desk any minute to lodge complaints.
Setting the decanter and glass aside, I hauled myself to my feet and answered the door to a very angry hellhound.
Colette’s blonde hair was frizzed, and her expression was a series of hard lines, every one of them pointing at me. “You are an imbecile,” she said as she stomped into the suite.
I pushed the door shut behind her while muttering, “By all means, come in.”
She wheeled on me before I’d even turned around. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Coll—”
“No.” She wagged a chastising finger. “You don’t get to dismiss that boy like he’s nothing and then hide up here nursing a glass of guilt.”
I massaged my temples. “You don’t understand—”
“I do understand,” she snapped. “I understand that you’re a coward.”
“Excuse me?”
The suite that had seemed almost fantastical last night was lackluster now. The sun burned in through the open window, glaring at me along with Colette as she roamed around the space, burning energy and venting anger.
“You heard me,” she said. “You’re hiding from your feelings like a lovesick mortal instead of dealing with them like a grown-ass demon.”
I bristled. “This isn’t about feelings. It’s about damage control.”
“Zephyr didn’t poison you on purpose,” Colette said, her voice sharp. “And you know it.”
I didn’t answer. My silence was its own admission.
Colette stopped and faced me with her fists on her hips. I braced for the rebuke that must have been brewing behind her pinched lips, but when she spoke, I didn’t feel scolded at all.
“He was a virgin, Beck.”
Shock staggered me, or maybe it was the bourbon making me unsteady, but I suddenly needed to sit down.
Making my way to the couch, I thought back to that night in the executive suites.
To Livingston’s sour deal, and Luxe’s wingman act, and Zephyr dangling above the stage, bound in silks with his limbs tensed and body bowing like he’d been designed to ruin me.
I thought about how he’d approached me and practically begged me to bed him. And I had. Because he was beautiful. Because he was hungry. Because he made me feel…
That was it. He made me feel.
But in his bedroom, that sad closet of a space with its barred-over window and sparse furnishings, he’d been uncertain. He’d bumbled through getting into position, then shied from my touch. But he’d said nothing about a lack of experience.
Colette stared at me, brown eyes blazing.
“No, that’s not…”
I stopped myself because fuck. I’d treated him like a prostitute. Clamped my hand over his mouth, then rutted mindlessly into him. His first time—his first sexual experience—had been getting used like a toy.
And maybe that was okay. He’d seemed to like it when I gagged him with my fingers, had moaned and writhed while my cock dipped into the wet heat of his ass. Maybe it didn’t matter that there had been no love in the act.
Not then. But since…
My mouth felt like it was packed with cotton, making it difficult to force the words out. “He didn’t tell me.”
Colette sniffed, nose upturned so she could glower down at where I sat. “You’re not the easiest person to talk to.”
I rolled my eyes and wished the bourbon was within reach as Colette carried on.
“Was it good for him, at least?” she asked. “Were you gentle?”
Not particularly.
I fucked Zephyr like I had something to prove.
Every time I touched him, it came with the uneasy weight of comparison, like some part of him was already measuring me against whoever might come next.
And I couldn’t stand the thought of being forgettable.
I wanted to leave a mark. I wanted to be the one he remembered.
He took everything I had to give, gorged himself on my desire, and I had wanted it to be good for him. Good didn’t have to be gentle.
“I’m not a fucking animal, Coll,” I grumbled.
“Well, you’re behaving like one.” Colette stepped closer. “Zephyr was a wreck when I got here. You broke him. And the worst part is, he defended you. Said this wasn’t your fault.”
“It’s not.” The rebuttal came quickly, but not half as quickly as Colette’s advance. Swooping in, she brought her hand around in a stinging slap that whipped my head to the side.
Anger chased surprise, and I sprang to my feet only to be shoved back down.
“Listen to me, you bitter old man.” Colette’s finger ticked too close to my face. “In the limo last night, I heard every word you said. You called that boy perfect and beautiful and then you sent him away. Why?”
“He tricked me,” I replied, while my conviction—my righteous indignation—waned.
“Non!” Colette barked. “I am not finished.”
“You asked me a question.”
“And your answer is wrong.” Colette folded her arms across her chest. “Now listen. Not only did I hear all the sweet nothings you whispered to him, I watched you fawn over him at lunch. While he was eating, you were feasting on his lips, his hair, his eyes, and blushing every time he laughed.” She shook her head. “Mon dieu, it was disgusting.”
While I glared, Colette’s expression softened. Turning, she dropped onto the couch beside me and reached for my hand.
“Lucas…” Her gaze was so beseeching I couldn’t avoid it. “You’ve sabotaged your own happiness.”
I’d seen a different reality on yesterday’s stroll down the Strip. I’d pictured Zephyr as a fixture in my life, a constant presence. Like the street performer said: people like Zephyr made magic work better. Or maybe they had a little magic of their own, a gift they could give to people like me.
But I should’ve known better. That kind of light didn’t stick around. It blazed bright and hot and drew you in with the promise of warmth, but it wasn’t meant to be contained. It couldn’t be kept, and I’d gotten burned trying.
“It can’t be happiness if it’s a lie,” I explained. “The other shoe was bound to drop. I may have been Zephyr’s first, but I won’t be his last. I certainly won’t be his only. Creatures like him—”
Colette made a reproachful sound. “Do not call him that when you yourself are the least human being in this equation.”
“Men like him,” I corrected, my voice flat, “will find someone else. I refuse to stand around waiting, wasting eternity on people who mean more to me than I mean to them.”
Colette scowled through the pause before muttering, “I know what you’re talking about, and it’s irrelevant.”
“It is relevant,” I argued.
“It’s sad,” Colette replied. “This is not that, and Zephyr is not Stefano. You are also not the same as you were a hundred years ago. And if you are, that’s sad too.”
I mirrored her frown as she continued.
“It’s called the past because it is meant to stay behind you.
” She swung her arm toward the door as though Zephyr was still in the hall, waiting.
For a moment, I wished he was. “That precious boy is within your grasp,” she said, then fanned her fingers in front of her face.
“And don’t get me started on all the other places he’s been because I can smell him everywhere. ”
“Just making the dicks kiss,” I replied dryly.