Chapter Nineteen - Sen
Ican’t get my mind off Teagan painting as I stand on the balcony of my hotel room, my shirt cast aside, a crystal tumbler of smoky whiskey in hand, and the glittering city below.
The cool wind bristles through my hair like fingers, and I sip the whiskey as I imagine Teagan would—exploring the burn with his whole body. He might’ve created something magnificent with some paint and brushes, but he was the art.
I’ve seen great works before, yet my only interest was how much each piece could get. Not so much for the money but for the power of what that money stood for, and taking that power from someone else. Deserving or not. What could be more fun?
Teagan is different. With him, I never want to take—I want to lavish. I want to spoil and indulge his every little desire until he wants for nothing, then I want to kiss his neck and give him more.
Staring out at the city, taking another sip of whiskey, I wonder what Teagan would think of the view. What he’d create.
I’m not some decrepit immortal who bemoans life being boring when there’s still so much to experience. But Teagan gave my world a fresh coat of paint, and how very alluring that colour has become.
I throw back the last of my drink, then stroll into my penthouse suite, discarding my glass on a side table. Impatience crawls over my skin to find Summer and Emma, kill them both, then claim Teagan and explore this immortal world together.
I find myself pacing the length of my rooms, bored out of my mind and inspecting every nook and cranny like Teagan did when he was in my car. I have no idea what I’m searching for, but Teagan didn’t either. His curiosity is infectious.
Normally, I’d put on music, flip through the laminated folders keeping my stamps in pristine condition, or check my emails for new jobs if I wasn’t already searching for information on a current one.
But without Teagan to bob his head, or make fun of me, or ask questions, or simply fill my heart with his quiet presence, it all feels pointless.
I don’t know why it’s there when I find it, or what it was used for—but under the sink, at the very back, wedged between pipes, is a can of navy paint.
I yank it free.
There was an untamed beauty to Teagan when he painted, a quality I doubt anyone could match.
I’ve seen a few of Kai’s sketches, and they’re nothing like his brother’s.
Kai’s art is a raw talent he’s mastered over the years.
Something I can appreciate, but it lacks the freedom I craved but was denied from a young age.
Teagan…his art is an ocean storm.
Uncaring if anyone wants it or not, it simply is. Vast and unpredictable, calling to those who witness it to hunker down, because there’s about to be a fucking show.
I go into my bedroom, to the long cream wall and imagine Teagan here.
Imagine him finding a canvas to play with, his eyes glinting with mischief and curiosity.
The can lid pops when I pry it open, the chemical smell thick, and when I splash navy across the wall, I hope through our shared connection that Teagan feels me.
Tossing the can aside, I press my open palms into the paint dripping down the wall, creating puddles for my toes to dip into. Navy coats my long fingers, the wide expanse of my hands as I spread the paint in long, loving strokes.
I want Teagan to feel all my pent-up desire to have him close, and my immortal rage that, due to the fucking gall of those beneath him, he’s been hurt, and any courtship we would’ve had has been stolen.
I move faster, covering more of my wall as my chest heaves.
Fuck Summer. Fuck Emma. Fuck Vidar and Kai for keeping him away. Teagan is mine, mine, mine, and fuck politely waiting.
I’m breathing hard and sweating when I step back, covered in paint up to my elbows, my bare chest speckled with navy. The thing I created is nothing like Teagan’s. But neither of us would want that.
My palm slaps against my chest where my heart beats, painting myself.
I free the air stuck between my ribs, roll my shoulders and hope that Teagan feels this too—release.
Relief.
Yet still wanting.
So much fucking wanting.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and without blinking or looking away, I pull it out and bring it to my ear.
“I found some information you might find interesting,” Kate says instead of an introduction.
“Tell me.” My voice is tight. All the energy I had to pretend and flirt was redirected to the swirling mess before me.
“Summer might be some magical bullshit, but she still had to pay her bills. Especially for the house she rented,” Kate informs. “But her last payment bounced because I’m assuming she’s on the run from you lot.”
“And other supernaturals.”
“Please don’t remind me,” she complains. “But someone else covered for her.”
“I wait with bated breath, detective.”
“Ha-ha,” Kate deadpans. “A guy named Mickey Harris.”
I sort through my memories, come up empty. “The name isn’t familiar. But the others might know something. Address?”
“Already sent it over.”
“Good.”
Before I can hang up, Kate rushes out, “Is everything okay? You don’t sound like yourself.”
The wall in front of me is ruined, but when it brought me closer to Teagan, I can’t think of it as anything but perfect.
“If you find out anything else—”
“I’ll let you know,” Kate assures me. “And if you need help keeping your human safe…”
For the first time since leaving Teagan, a smirk crests across my face as I turn away and head towards the shower. “Things would have to be pretty dire for me to rely on you, detective.”
***
My car jolts as Lucero slides inside.
“And here I thought you’d be too tied around Golden to arrive on time,” I say.
“Jealous?” Lucero drawls like the famous playboy he pretends to be, when really, when it comes to love, we both know he couldn’t be softer.
I reply with an indifferent chuckle and a dismissive gesture. I can also pretend.
“Your message said your detective found Mickey?”
I start the engine and drive out of the hotel’s garage. “So you’re familiar?”
“The short story is that he was working with Golden’s brother, Jace, at some ridiculous fight club. Jace got his hands on the First Blood Mage Tome, and he made Mickey into a blood mage and his right-hand man. When Emma killed Jace, who was also her nephew—”
“No wonder Elio doesn’t think highly of his family.”
“—The warehouse we were in went up in flames, and Mickey managed to escape,” Luc finishes. “To be honest, I didn’t think much of him, but he does seem to keep popping up.”
“Like Bran,” I retort.
“Fucking Bran,” Lucero scoffs. There’s a beat of silence, then Luc adds, like he hasn’t stopped thinking about it, “What do you think of his prophecy?”
I tap my fingers on the wheel as we drive through the night.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’s toyed with our lives.”
“Just standard Bran behaviour,” Lucero remarks bitterly.
“Wouldn’t it be so much easier if the ancient bastard just died?”
“If only.”
I sober, saying, “But if it’s led to us finding our soulmates…”
“I’m no saint and care little that he’s ruined some lives to get us here. But…” Lucero sighs. “I hate the idea of knowing Golden’s life could’ve been different.”
We leave behind clubs and restaurants and travel into quieter streets. “Do you mean better? Without you?”
From the corner of my eye, I can see the deep blue in Lucero’s hard gaze, while the hum of my engine fills the quiet space between us.
“Vampirism has been difficult for him,” Lucero explains slowly, not through gritted teeth but with an amount of force.
“Golden doesn’t regret it, and I believe him when he tells me.
But this change has been challenging.” Lucero heaves out a long breath.
“So if Bran did something that resulted in Golden’s life being what it was, that would be unforgivable. ”
“And he wouldn’t even care.”
Lucero makes a sound of amused frustration. “I tried to ask Bran what exactly he did to bring our soulmates so close, but he left as quickly as he arrived.”
I hold back on my bitterness that at least Lucero gets to have his soulmate. I know part of their story, and it was no easy journey. So while Teagan has pushed me away, he’s also allowed me close. “This whole thing is a fucking mess.”
“Isn’t that the theme of this family?” Lucero mocks.
Headlights and street lamps shine through the window, while six hundred years of unspoken things prick at us both. But the most recent slices in the deepest.
It’d be easier to hide from these hurts, but watching Teagan paint makes me want to uncover what is covered. Even if that means exposing something vulnerable.
“When Vidar was sinking deeper into his apathy,” I say, my voice coming out strained, “why didn’t you leave with me as I asked?”
Lucero doesn’t shift. His breathing remains steady. But I know my brother well, and he is anything but calm. “Someone had to take responsibility—”
“Yes!” I snap, my anger a sudden flash I wasn’t expecting. “Yes, Luc. Vidar. Vidar claimed us as family. He wanted the burden of responsibility.”
“Depression was eating him alive,” Luc growls, and in my peripheral vision, his shoulders tense. “He was a wreck.”
“So were you!” I hiss out a breath, trying to cool this heat now that I’ve let it flare. “So was Rurik. But we both know our brother was never going to leave that sinking ship, too ready to go down with it. But you…”
For centuries, it’d been Vidar, Lucero, Rurik and me. Sometimes Bran, but often not. But Luc and I were always close. So when the cracks in our family finally splintered, a naive part of me believed he and I would turn our backs on the destruction.
“But Ramy,” Lucero counters sharply. “You left for a job, one in which I assumed you’d be returning from, then Vidar made Ramy. I called you for help, do you remember? But instead you told me you’re never coming back and want me to leave with you.”
“Okay, I can admit that wasn’t my finest moment.”
“No,” Lucero growls. “You’d been gone three days, and within the first twenty-four hours, our Maker, who was losing himself, left the house only to return with a lonely boy, barely out of his fucking teens, and he was already a vampire.
And Vidar, in his shattering mind, was convinced that that lonely child would save him. ”
I squeeze the wheel. “I didn’t know—”
“You didn’t want to!” Lucero barks. “I couldn’t leave Ramy. I couldn’t leave Rurik to kill himself because of his dead soulmate. I couldn’t leave Vidar in that state of…” Luc’s fist slams into the door. “It was madness, Sen!”
“But did staying help?” I bite out, not angry at Luc. Just plain angry.
“Did leaving?”
The car fills with our heavy breathing.
For once, I don’t know what to say. I want to find the right words that’ll fix all these cracks, offer a blanket apology or explanation and move on like the years never happened. But these hurts run bedrock deep.
“I failed you by leaving,” I admit, though it’s like pulling teeth.
“But I would’ve failed myself by staying.
I couldn’t continue to live that way. You were sinking into apathy, too, and watching you, Rurik and Vidar flounder was…
” I swallow. “No matter how much I loved you all, I couldn’t allow myself to drown with you. ”
I continue to drive, and we both stay silent. I don’t know where we stand from here, and I don’t know if opening myself up helped or widened the cracks.
But when I park outside a two-storey house with a flat roof, and Luc says, “I do understand. It hurts, and sometimes I hate you. But I understand.”
I release the wheel finger by finger.
“Your Golden is sweet as sugar, Luc. But sugar is coarse and has more complexity than people give it credit for. He’ll be okay.” I turn to catch Lucero’s face melt into a small smile.
My brother, what a gooey centre he has.
“Teagan fits you perfectly.”
I smile at him. How could I not? Love makes fools of us all.
“And once this is all said and done, you’ll have him. I know you well, Sen, and if you want something, there is nothing in the world that’ll stop you.”
Maybe these wounds will never heal.
I reach out and clap Luc on the shoulder.
Despite it all, there’s no one else I’d rather call brother than this man and our wayward Rurik. And no Maker I’d rather have than Vidar.