CHAPTER FOUR #3
"Kill him." The Master stated, and Wyatt snapped his neck and pulled out his dagger and plunged it through the man's heart, slicing him open and removing the organ.
He then slapped it to the floor next to the man's face.
It filled him with satisfaction but did not quench his desire for revenge.
There were others involved, and he would root them out, and he would kill them.
"Wyatt, I'm okay. I'm here with you." Atticus spoke softly, and his voice began to soothe his frayed nerves and raging heart. Wyatt began to shake with the anger and panic of nearly losing his beloved. He looked up at Atticus, his eyes wide and searching.
"I would never hurt you, Atticus," Wyatt stated, wanting Atticus to understand him and to know that he would never raise his hand against him. "I will protect you, defend you, and gladly die for you."
"I know, I know it wasn't you." Those words touched him, and relief flooded his soul.
He stood and pulled Atticus into his arms. He didn't care about propriety or protocol; all he wanted was his beloved living and breathing and standing in the circle of his arms. Atticus did not resist and did not pull away.
Master DuCane tossed the man he was holding over to Luke and Riall, who were well known for their skills in interrogation. "Take him to the basement and make him talk." He told them, and with an insidious smile, they dragged the man away. Master DuCane then turned his attention back to Wyatt.
"Take Atticus and go to one of the suites on the fourth floor.
They are kept fully stocked. Everything there will be safe; keep him safe, Wyatt.
" He said and then turned his attention to the kitchen.
Chef Ried was already cleaning and disposing of all foodstuffs, and Ismael was there with a team of guards keeping everyone in place until questions could be asked and answered.
"Poison, Ismael." He said, his tone tired and irritated. "They tried to kill my guest, someone who was in my home under my protection. We will find them all."
"We will find them all," Ismael repeated, then added. "And then we will kill them."
Wyatt led his beloved out of the kitchen, and he was so overcome with the need to protect him that he scooped him up into his arms and held him tightly against his body as he carried him to his suite on the fourth floor. He wanted to keep everyone away from him; no one would get close ever again.
"I'm sorry, but I must hold you; my vampire is flipping out. I must know that you are breathing and your heart is beating and that you are alive." Wyatt pressed his face into the crook of Atticus' neck and breathed.
He was trying to calm down, but the danger to his beloved was not over, and Wyatt could not let his guard down.
They nearly took the most precious thing in his life, and he swore that they would never get that close again.
They had arranged it so that Wyatt would have been the one to hand Atticus the concoction that killed him.
If Atticus had died, Wyatt would have drunk the remainder and followed him.
Atticus gave him what he needed and did not struggle or deny him the contact and security his mind and body craved.
Wyatt was struck by the intense bond he felt with this man.
He'd tried to remain aloof and separate, fearful that there was no place for him in the Necromancer's life, but now, with all things known, all things became possible.
He opened the door to the suite that offered a view of the tree garden and the hedges and then closed and locked the door behind him.
He held fast to Atticus and carried him through the suite to the primary bedroom.
Wyatt kicked off his boots and got onto the bed with Atticus still in his arms and stretched out with his back against the headboard.
Atticus did not complain or question him; he seemed to need the contact as much as Wyatt.
They stayed like that for quite some time.
Wyatt wasn't sure how long, but having Atticus safe in his arms after the near devastation of earlier was a gift he wasn't about to treat lightly.
Atticus held the palm of his hand on Wyatt's chest; the warmth of that hand seeped into his bones and gave him a sense of surety that had not touched him in decades, maybe longer.
"I'm sorry, Atticus. I didn't know. I didn't think such a thing would happen here to someone like you, who was here to help us.
I trusted and made assumptions that could have cost you your life.
. . before I had the chance to..." He trailed off for a moment and then caught himself and started again, more clearly; he needed to be clear.
"You are my beloved. I didn't know it at first, not until I caught your scent, and then I didn't want you to feel awkward. I know we are very different. You are a great man and highly esteemed; you deserve better than a coven guard, a vampire of no particular distinction.
But with that said, I want to make it clear that I am at a place in my heart, mind, and soul where I can not let you go. You are mine. Fate has placed you in my hands in my life; you are my beloved." He enunciated 'my' with considerable force, not wanting to be misunderstood ever again.