Chapter 4
Peter was about ready to chew the steering wheel to bits. He’d parked on a side street from which he had a partial view of the Boudoir, his eyes glued to the parking lot through which Theodore, accompanied by sweet Corvin, had entered.
“It’s probably something to do with the wedding. A surprise for Michael. Yes. They must want to get him a stripper. They wouldn’t be…they wouldn’t be sampling the strippers, surely?”
He looked at the phone in his left hand for about the hundredth time in the last minute.
Theodore hadn’t called. Michael hadn’t called.
Celeste hadn’t called. And no one had texted either.
Peter considered what his best course of action was, whether to text Celeste to ask if she employed anyone with stripper credentials.
“Except then she’ll think I want a stripper, and she’ll ask why I want a stripper when I have Theodore sharing my bed. The bother.”
Peter managed to hold off for another five seconds, then he texted Michael.
How are things at the office? Are you holding down the fort?
I guess? It’s just another Monday. It’s not the first time you’ve had emergency client business come up. We can manage.
Or do you need me to come out and help you with anything?
It was tempting. Michael would be able to use his song to figure out what was going on. Except he wouldn’t, not on Theodore, and certainly not on Corvin. Stupid fucking ethics and all that.
Peter texted back.
Of course not. I have everything under control. I just never got a chance to check in with you. Is Corvin doing well? The wedding preparations are going as you want them to?
Yup, all running smoothly. Heads-up, there’s going to be a bachelor party, and he’ll invite Theo. Don’t tell Theo, okay? I’m not supposed to tell you.
My lips are sealed. I’m sure the party will be spectacular.
Peter relaxed somewhat. So they are there for strippers. He frowned. It still leaves the issue of Theodore looking at other naked men.
Peter mulled that thought over, feeling stupider and stupider the more he thought about it.
“We all used to go swimming naked together, back in the day, and it’s not like I ever minded being on a ship with other warriors, male or female.
Freyr’s balls, I cannot believe the fucking patriarchy has succeeded in indoctrinating me into fearing other men’s balls. ”
Peter contemplated how best to undo the damage society had done to the cultural values he’d been born to when his phone dinged.
Sorry, had to take a call. Yes, it’s going to be a blast. My mom is organizing it, and she’s going at it hard. Your Theo’s going to have a really good time.
His mother is doing the organizing, not Corvin? “May Thor’s hammer strike the balls of other men!”
Peter bared his teeth, digging his fingers into the steering wheel. He wanted to storm into the Boudoir, find Theodore, gather him in his arms and hold him until he told Peter what was wrong, what he needed, what Peter could do to make it better.
And there was something wrong—Peter was well aware of it.
Theodore wasn’t a moper, but he had been so this morning.
If only he’d caught the flu. I can manage his snot easily enough, but this…
He enjoys his lectures, he’s studious. He puts more effort into his essays than I did into the bar exam. Why would he elect not to go to class?
Peter had no proof that Theodore was the one who’d chosen to forgo a day of higher education. There was an alternative scenario in which Corvin had asked for a favor, and obviously, without proof, Peter’s speculations were no more than, well, speculations.
“It’s that he didn’t talk to me. Yes. There is something wrong, and he didn’t talk to me. Or Corvin needed help. But then, Theodore should’ve called me right away. He must know I’d keep anything confidential if he just asked me.”
The problem with it all was that Peter had nothing more to go on than what he could glean from following Theo and Corvin at a distance.
True, it wasn’t much of a distance, which was worrying.
Then again, he’s not a warrior and has never been trained to stab anyone following him before they can do it first. He’s never been trained in stabbing, period, and that’s a bother.
Ah, he’s such a soft child of this age. At least he’s wearing the sweater.
Peter continued to do exactly nothing except glancing at his phone and holding his steering wheel in a death grip.
His tension eased with the soft stirrings of hope when he saw a familiar and unkempt figure flip-flopping his way to the Boudoir, the pup in tow.
Sage wore board shorts in spite of the possibility of the day turning cold.
Peter snorted. “Well, he’s not getting near Theodore during germ season, that veritable health hazard of an unshaven witch.”
The pup looked altogether better, which was a relief. “If only he’d made Sage dress properly for a change, that would’ve been the best outcome. But you cannot win all the time.”
Peter considered his phone again. He could potentially text Sage and task him, in his professional capacity, with making sure Theodore was all right. Then again, that would bring questions, and much like Michael, Sage was anything but an expert when it came to the ethics of caring for a lover.
“He’s also terrible at lying. That’s the worst of it.
He’d never have been able to ransom a hostile chieftain and barter for a good lausnargjald, though I tried to teach him some skills.
” Peter clicked his tongue. “I always bankrupted him when we played Monopoly, and I didn’t even have to cheat to do it.
” He rubbed his eyes. “I’d not dare play Monopoly with Celeste. ”
Peter eyed his phone again, wondering whether he should attempt to text her, but the truth of it was that he knew Celeste would sense his intent, even through something as simple and innocuous as a text.
Metaphorically speaking, he’d rather she hold her shield next to him than aim her sword at his heart.
And so, Peter waited. It was the only option. He waited like he had done so many times before he’d become a vampire, when he’d lain in ambush to deliver an attack or strike a death blow—ready to act, but patient.
After what felt like the better part of a boring century, he saw something that made him even more uneasy.
A car left the parking lot, and Theodore was in the passenger seat.
One of the security people—Carl, Conrad, something or other—was behind the wheel.
In the back, Peter could just about make out Corvin and Sage’s pup.
“What by the Norns’ tits is this?”
Peter put the car into gear, though he waited a little longer. He doubted the security man was as easily followed as Theodore and Corvin, but follow them he had to. He wasn’t sure what the plot was, but it was thickening as surely as the ocean was wet.