Chapter Sixteen
Vladimir
The shower goes on, and I drop my head into my hands and groan. I am not certain that I have dealt so poorly with a situation in hundreds of years, and now, of all times? I might yell, if I did not think it would cause Grant to emerge from the bathroom to check on me.
Not that he should. I can admit, to myself, that I still feel a kernel of doubt regarding his feelings toward me.
I turned him. I introduced him to this world, and I have hardly allowed him to leave my side since that occurred.
At the same time, I can recognise that he was, while young, still fully grown before we met.
He knows his own mind. He can make his own decisions.
He has chosen me. To whatever extent he can and whatever that means to him, but I should not care about the intricacies of it.
He chose me. He chooses me.
He told me he is in love with me.
I press my fingers to my lips when my cheeks begin to ache.
I am smiling. Of course. Why would I not?
I have been loved through the centuries; I cannot deny that.
I also cannot deny that it has never felt quite like this, this flurry of feelings low in my belly, sending me off-kilter, warning me to scrap this job and abandon the Huntsman, my life, everything for—
I shake my head. My heart cannot rule me. That is something I cannot allow. And, truly, I believe that Grant would not appreciate it. My eyes dart to the door. I should have replied. I should have portrayed to him the depth of my own feelings.
Will he understand that he took me by surprise?
I never could have anticipated the apprehension I just saw on his face.
I shake my head and reach for my phone. We have an hour or so before darkness will truly blanket the sky, and I anticipate that Asher and Quinn will be keeping themselves busy—thinking we are doing the same—until then.
Moreau’s number is not one I often use. Even before he left us after all that happened with Tamesis and Vasile, I called the Huntsman before him.
Still, I scroll to his name. The Huntsman has gone to the Otherworld, and perhaps Moreau has travelled with him. I certainly do not understand the relationship between the two of them. I would never attempt to.
He answers on the third ring, voice faintly tinged with panic.
“Vlad. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You wouldn’t call me if all was well.”
“Is the Huntsman with you?”
He scoffs. “You know he isn’t. He went back to the Otherworld yesterday.”
I grimace. “When will he be back?”
“Did you really call me to check up on him? I’m insulted.”
He says the last two words with a laughing lilt to his voice, but I know that does not mean that he is amused. He wants to understand the point of this entire conversation, and I cannot blame him.
I sigh. “No. I did not call about him.”
“What’s going on, Vlad?”
I glance at the bathroom door. I can hear the shower running within. Grant may well still be able to hear me, if he is trying, and considering the humiliation I saw pass over his face before he ran in there, I think that he is not.
“It’s about Grant,” I say.
“All right.”
“He kissed me.”
I do not know how to explain further than that. I still do not wish to spill the entire truth of this new development regarding Grant’s powers, not when Moreau might see the Huntsman before I do and might tell him all the same.
“Well,” Moreau says. “That has been a long time coming.”
“I—What?”
“I thought he might try a few years ago. I knew you wouldn’t make the first move. You’re too in your head about him.”
“I do not understand.”
Moreau huffs. “Why did you turn him, Vlad?”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t just answer me. Think! Why?”
I swallow hard and lower myself down to sit on the edge of the bed. I was coming back from a job that night. I had decided to walk to the nearest town because I still had adrenaline running through me. The fight had been more exhilarating than I had expected.
And then… Then I felt some kind of tug. Something I needed to see. I began walking the wrong way, away from the job and where I was staying, and I came across the car, Grant all broken, breaths shallow, pulse fluttering—
How could I not turn him? Yet, I have turned no one since and never felt the urge before.
“I couldn’t do anything else,” I say helplessly. “He—I-I wanted to save him.”
“Yes. Why?”
“I felt—” I saw his eyes for the first time. Hazy from pain and confusion and panic, and he didn’t see me, not at first, but when he did… “We had a connection.”
“A bond.”
“Yes.” The Huntsman told me that when I returned with him. When I begged to be allowed to remain in the Hunt despite the rule I had so clearly broken, dragging the proof of it back with me. “That is why I turned him.”
“Fate.” Moreau sighs. “She has plenty planned for all of us, I think.”
I do not ask what she has planned for Moreau. I do not dare. That is like asking it of the Huntsman; I would never do that, either.
“What happened after he kissed you?”
“He said he has been in love with me for fifteen years.”
“And you panicked and didn’t reply?”
“Um. Yes.”
Moreau snorts softly, and it does not feel as though he is laughing at me, despite the fact that I know every other member of the Hunt believes I am far less emotionally mature than they are.
“Tell him you love him back, Vlad,” Moreau says. “It really is that simple.”
“I know.” I do. I just need… perspective. An outside thought. “Thank you.”
“I’d say anytime, but I don’t know where I’ll be next week, so maybe wait a while before you call again.”
“Do you need any assistance?”
“Here? No. Have you completed your job?”
“We have the name he asked for.”
“And now?”
“He is not here to stop the fae. That is our job. We serve the Hunt.”
“That we do. Speak to you soon, Vlad.”
“Of course.”
He hangs up and I set my phone gently down on the bed. Tell him you love him back. He is not wrong about it being simple. The shower shuts off in the bathroom and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my thighs.
I do not doubt Grant meant what he said. I do not doubt the depth of my feelings for him. Doubting his… That is unfair of me. Unkind. He is the last person I would wish to be unkind to.
I hear him move around, then silence, which endures for a few lingering minutes before the lock clicks and Grant tentatively opens the bathroom door. He angles his body around to get a look at me, apprehension written clearly on his face.
“Are you… You should get ready, right? We need to talk to Asher and Quinn about what we’re gonna do tonight.”
“They will be indisposed until sundown, I assume.”
Grant flushes red, and that does nothing to help me. I want to rest my hands on his cheeks and feel the warmth from them.
“Come here,” I say instead, and he swallows hard before he pads across the carpet to stand before me.
He is not wearing a provocative outfit. We do not know if we will go to the club tonight. Instead, he is in the same kind of clothes he would wear at home—pale linen shorts that fall just above his knee and a teal shirt of the same fabric, collar gaping open down to his chest.
He is summer personified. The sun I must orbit, his gravity drawing me in, just as it did that first night I met him. I want his warmth, want to sip the sunbeams from his mouth and give him every opportunity to shine as brightly as that star ever has.
I do not know how to say all of that, so instead I reach out and take his left hand in my right, gratified when he does not pull away. “I am sorry I made you feel bad about what you said before. It was not my intention.”
“No, it’s—It’s okay. I’m rushing things. I mean, we just kissed and I shouldn’t say things like that. That’s not fair on you or me—”
“I like that you said it,” I interrupt and hold his gaze when his eyes go wide. “Do not doubt that. I do not believe anyone has ever said something that has made me feel…”
I trail off and Grant shifts his weight subtly. His pulse flutters in his throat. “Vlad.”
“I am in love with you, too.” I hold out a hand to fend off his oncoming protest. “I have never said anything more sincere in all my years. Since I first saw you, since I first turned you… It is all for you, Grant. Every part of me is yours.”
His mouth drops open, breaths coming faster. “Y-you can’t… I mean. You—” Grant shakes his head. “You serve the Hunt. The Huntsman.”
“And you. You, Grant. I do not know how to make this plain to you.”
His smile trembles, but it lights me up from the inside all the same. I tug on the hand I am holding, drawing him a little closer. He stands between my parted thighs, and the faintest tremble goes through him.
“I will tell you every day, if you wish it,” I say, even as it heats my face to utter the words aloud. I have never pretended to be a demonstrative man. But should that be what he needs…
“Yes,” Grant says and leans in closer, breath ghosting over my lips. “Here. Between us.”
“Will you have the others know?”
“That you’re mine?”
Something dangerous and possessive curls in my stomach. “Yes.”
“Of course.” Grant presses his lips to the corner of my mouth, then leans back. “They’ll know as soon as they look at us, won’t they?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m yours? Like that. Like, more than just your turn?”
I cannot blame him for his doubt. Not when I have my own.
Instead, I reel him in and cup the back of his neck and when our mouths meet, he lets out a muffled groan and surrenders.
I pull him as close as he can be, soaking up all that heat, and when that is not close enough, I twist and tip him on his back on the bed, climbing swiftly over him.
Grant arches his back, pressing down against the knee I have planted between his thighs. I find I want to kiss the hollow of his throat, so I do, and when my tongue flicks out to taste his skin, I fancy I taste the sun on him despite his recent shower.
“Vlad…” Grant pulls my hair, draws me up so he can take my mouth and lick inside.
I am surprised that I do not mind, though perhaps I should not be.
I will allow him any liberty he should ask for, and this does not even feel like one.
His hands trip over my shoulders and chest, another groan escaping from deep within him.
I have never felt so light as this, the worries of the Hunt a distant concern, for later, for someone else, for—
A phone buzzes on the side table and we both freeze, though Grant recovers first, nose bumping against mine as he faintly laughs. “We should’ve started earlier.”
I growl in response. I do not wish to be interrupted. I do not want to stop, to be parted from him by even an inch. Grant’s eyes darken and his gaze falls to my lips, but when the phone buzzes again, he shakes his head and gives me a rueful grin.
“We’ve got to—Don’t make me be the sensible one.”
I lower my head and nip at the skin of his throat.
There is only one mark here. My mark. The scar I left when I turned him.
I did my best, despite everything, to make it as unobtrusive as possible, but now I am glad for it, and when I dig my teeth into the spot, Grant pants in my arms, pushing against me.
“Fuck, Vlad,” he whines, desire dripping from every syllable. “We have to—There’s so much to do, but I want—”
He turns and we kiss again, still clumsy as we learn each other, hands wandering, lingering, and maybe we have enough time, maybe…
Someone knocks on the door. The wards reach for me. Asher. Grant drops his head back onto the mattress and groans, then takes me in with one sweep of his eyes. They linger at the bulge in my pyjama bottoms, which throbs under the heaviness of his gaze.
He groans again. “I’ll get the door,” he says, and there is a spark in his eyes even as he does not sound amused at all. “You get dressed.”