Chapter 7 Peter
Peter
“I just want to know what your kindness is going to cost me,” said Puck.
The young man sat in Peter’s favorite kitchen chair, looking much like a bedraggled stray carried in during a storm, and like any stray, Puck was leading with some metaphorical teeth and claws.
Peter drummed his fingers on the kitchen table.
The bullshit-free truth was that Peter would merrily rip Meathands’s—Bernard’s—head off, strictly in the name of making New Elvenswood safer.
Well, it was partially the bullshit-free truth.
Peter cared next to nothing about making New Elvenswood safe. It already was.
Peter would rip Bernard apart just so Puck was no longer bothered by the other vampire.
Then maybe he would broach a conversation about strawberries and whether Puck would like being sent some.
Then Peter would make a habit of doing so.
He’d set a reminder on his calendar to make sure there was a weekly delivery.
And then he’d always have a reason to call Puck, to make sure the delivery had been received.
Which reminds me, I should get his contact information. I have to make sure he puts my number in his phone. What’s he going to save me under? Hmmm.
Puck looked different here, in this house, this kitchen, dressed in a plain, dark gray T-shirt and blue jeans. He looked like the student he apparently was and less like the persona he donned as a sex worker.
Puck ran a purple nail along the outside of the mug, that color the only remnant of how he’d looked yesterday.
I like having him here. Peter’s eyes fell to the bruise Bernard’s hand had left on Puck’s wrist. I want to protect him? No, that can’t be right. I don’t do that. Sending fruit is one thing, but protecting someone… Peter tapped his foot. But I want him safe. I need him to be safe.
Peter sighed. He needs me to want something from him. He needs balance. Bargaining power.
“Very well. When I drank from you last night…” Peter paused for dramatic effect. “When I drank from you, I noticed that your blood tasted…different. Sweeter. Addictive, even. It tastes like a drug, and I would be willing to negotiate for you to allow me to drink it again.”
That was a lot of bullshit right there, and disgustingly sappy bullshit at that, but it was the best Peter could do on such short notice.
Puck’s lips tightened. “Is that why Celeste said…she said you were going to pay twice my hourly rate?”
Peter rolled his eyes. “Twice? Well. I suppose so. But more than that, I…would want the exclusive pleasure of drinking your blood.”
Puck’s hold on the mug tightened. “I knew it was something.”
Peter was glad Puck had bought that. Of course, Puck had wanted to buy it. What has he been through to think this makes more sense than me interceding on his behalf? It’s no matter. Although perhaps I shall ask Bernard about it.
Peter pushed the paper menus closer to Puck. “Given my interest, I would like you to stay healthy. Please, select something you like. I will order for you, and while you eat, we can discuss terms.”
Peter had found that discussing business over food was a great way to get humans and a lot of other supernaturals in a good mood. He hoped the same would be true for Puck.
Puck held Peter’s gaze and didn’t even look at the menus. Instead, he slowly, deliberately, lifted the mug to his lips and took a long sip. That defiance? Priceless. And so very rare. It made Peter’s heart flutter.
“Do you like the chocolate?” Peter asked. He was unable to resist.
Puck raised his eyebrows a fraction before drawing them together again. “It’s all right.”
He likes it. I can see it in his eyes. I should make him a cup every morning. But he’d have to stay here for that. His nostrils flared as a vision of Puck crawling into Peter’s bed unspooled in his mind. Peter had no idea where that was coming from, but he was powerless to stop it.
After a moment, Puck started going through the menus. His stomach rumbled as he read through the items and selected pizza and a salad, of all things. Peter just nodded and stepped outside to order from the landline.
While Peter was making the call from his study—with the door wide open in case Puck felt like eavesdropping—Peter also texted Celeste.
Will call in that favor. Details later.
So many things you want from me lately.
Whatever you need.
??
Once he was done ordering Puck’s food, Peter walked back to the kitchen, taking pains to let his footfalls be heard. Puck had almost finished the hot chocolate.
“Your food should be here in half an hour.”
“Okay.”
Peter went back to the pantry to find the white chocolate.
He would get Puck addicted to chocolate if he could; a truly silly idea that appealed to Peter for some reason.
For a very specific reason. But Peter was going to keep bullshitting himself for a little while longer.
If he allowed himself to acknowledge that he cared about that human sipping the last bit of his hot chocolate and staring out the kitchen window with a pained expression, well, then there would be no more denying it.
And once Peter could no longer deny, he would have to commit, because that was what he had always done in his long life.
And once he committed to keeping Puck safe, he would have to do all manner of things, like remembering birthdays and anniversaries, getting sappy on random occasions, and good grief, the bother.
Also, strawberries. I’ll have to send him those. And wake him with a hot chocolate each morning.
At the counter, Peter cut small chunks of some of his more expensive chocolates, and put them on a small plate. Then he walked over to Puck and placed the plate in front of him.
“I’ll make you a refill. Want to pick the chocolates yourself this time?”
Puck’s green eyes flicked to Peter. “Are you messing with me?” He looked at the samples.
“Not at all.”
Puck frowned. “I’m good.”
“Of course. Maybe later.”
As Peter went to put the chocolates away again, from the corner of his eye he saw Puck putting one of the dark chocolate samples into his mouth. His eyes widened at the taste.
Dark and sweet. Got you.
The food arrived thirty-seven minutes later.
Peter made sure to tip exceedingly generously in the hopes that the delivery person would hurry next time.
Puck excused himself to the bathroom before eating, and Peter put everything on the table, adding a plate, cutlery, and napkins.
He also retrieved his own laptop from the car and settled down at the kitchen table with it.
“What’s all this?” Puck asked when he returned, once more smelling like soap.
“Just some work.” Peter adjusted the laptop screen.
“No, I mean this.” Puck lifted a knife off the placemat Peter had found.
Peter looked at Puck for a moment. “It’s a salad knife.”
“A…salad knife.”
Peter nodded. “I believe for…tomatoes perhaps? I cannot say I have personal experience with salad.”
Puck gave Peter a funny little look before saying, “Whatever. Salad knife, my ass.”
That set Peter to musing about that particular part of Puck’s anatomy, which made him itch to open Photoshop and covertly take a photo of Puck with his laptop camera.
No. I can’t. That would be very, very bad. There are limits. Besides, he needs me focused on protecting him. Peter sighed. The bother.
Peter watched Puck ignore the salad altogether and instead shove pizza into his mouth, completely forgoing the cutlery.
He’d chew, clearly hungry, stop self-consciously, then slow down, though he touched none of the silverware.
It was terribly cute. A tiny spot of tomato sauce on Puck’s top lip made Peter want to reach out and wipe it away with his thumb, which was gross, considering there were napkins.
Peter exhaled slowly and tried to come to terms with the fact that he was done for. There would be no more Photoshop fantasies in his future, there would only be a craving for this very real, annoyingly human human. Oh, the absolute bother.
I’d ask him to be handfasted before the equinox, and I’d swear an oath to Odin’s ravens to treat him like a master of my house.
I’d have given him half of what was mine back then.
Hm. I could give him half of what is mine today.
Peter sighed. No. He must never feel as if I want to buy him.
He must feel free in all his choices. The handfasting will come later.
Peter waited a few minutes before he spoke. “How’s the food?”
Puck stopped chewing. “Fine,” he said through a mouthful of pizza.
Peter nodded. “Wonderful. Perhaps we could go over a quick outline of what I might offer you, and what you would like in return. I’ll have a contract ready for you within the hour, and you can read through it while I have a look at your laptop.”
“Contract?” Puck asked, his expression wary.
“Yes. Like I said, I would like to have exclusive access to your blood. As such, I would expect you to keep up a healthy lifestyle, exercise, sleep, eat three meals a day, nothing outrageous. Obviously, for the sake of convenience, I’d like you close.
I can see why you would not want to move into this house, although that would be my first choice.
At a minimum, I’d like you to stay here until we can discuss what will solve your Bernard issue.
Which—in addition to providing you with an environment that allows you to hold up your end of this contract—I understand would be one of your demands. ”
Puck had begun gaping somewhere through that. “You want to…you want to keep me here?” He put the slice of pizza down and glanced at the door.
Peter sighed, making his best attempt at playacting. “I don’t, as a matter of fact. You see, I like things just so. I like an orderly, quiet life. I’ve never much enjoyed having anyone live with me.
“That said, Bernard seems to think you are his property. I cannot be everywhere, and guaranteeing your security in a place I do not control…well, it would be difficult.” He paused for effect, then added, “Costly. I’m willing to adapt for the sake of convenience, only until I have taken care of your vampire problem. Your blood is simply that enticing.”
Puck clenched his jaw and wiped his fingers on a napkin. “My vampire problem? I thought you lot all stuck together.”
Peter smiled. “My lot? Puck, I assure you, that vampire is nothing like me.”
Puck frowned. “You know that’s not my name, right?”
“Yes, but you never gave me another.”
Puck picked the slice back up and took another bite out of it. “It’s Theo.”
Theo. Theodorus? No, Theodore if anything. It suits him. It makes him sound so bookish and sweet.
“A pleasure, Theo.”
Theo looked at Peter. “Will I get paid?”
“Of course. Generously.”
He nodded. “I won’t quit Madame Celeste’s. How would that work?”
Peter felt as if a knife were being shoved into his belly.
He’d never thought of himself as the possessive kind, but the very idea of Theo giving his attention to someone else…
he didn’t like it. Only I have no right to forbid him.
I have no more right to dictate what he does with his time than this Bernard person.
Peter’s eyes fell to the bruise on Theo’s wrist. No right whatsoever.
“I don’t think she will have an issue, once I inform her of my intentions and negotiate fair compensation. In the end, she should be able to benefit as much as you and I.”
Theo snorted. “A win-win-win.”
“Precisely.”
Theo wiped his fingers again. “How would you take care of Bernard?”
Peter shrugged. “Highly dependent on how smart he is. On what his survival instincts are made of.”
That made Theo gape. “Wait. Wait, wait. Are you saying you would order a hit on Bernard?”
Peter had experienced some twists and turns in his legal career, so he had no issue keeping a straight face right then.
The fact that Theo didn’t assume Peter would do the murdering himself should have been upsetting, but Peter was a bigger man than that.
People believing he was incapable of committing murder had long since stopped upsetting Peter.
“I have my ways,” he said, keeping it vague so Theo wouldn’t feel responsible. Hopefully.
Theo ground his teeth before he spoke. “I want to get my degree.”
Peter nodded, and his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Certainly.”
“I don’t want to move. I…I can keep my phone on unless I’m in class or at work, and I can come over whenever you call.”
Peter tilted his head. “Yes. But you agree to staying here while Bernard is still in town? As a temporary precaution.”
Theo hesitated, then nodded. “Fine.”
“And you will allow me to look around your place and see if you need any additional security.”
That made Theo clam up again. “I’d rather not tell you where I live.”
Peter raised his eyebrows. “Why not? I would not visit you unless invited, and keeping your address off the paperwork is impossible.”
Theo looked down for several seconds before finally nodding. “Fine.”
“Wonderful. Anything else?” Peter was prepared to give Theo whatever he asked for: a car, tuition, hell, even a pony. But to Peter’s surprise—and disappointment—Theo shook his head. “Very well. Then all I need is your full name for now.”
“Theodore Turner.”
Theodore. I was right.
“I’ll go write this up and print it out for you to look over.” He stood and gathered up his laptop, then pointed toward the great room. “Once you are done eating, feel free to move to the living room. Or explore the house, if you prefer. You are quite welcome to roam.”
Theo snorted. “Are you hoping I’ll find all the kinky shit in your drawers?”
Peter couldn’t hold his grin inside. “You’re assuming I keep it inside the drawers, Theo.” You have no idea what Photoshop magic lives on my hard drives.
Only a faint flush rose to Theo’s cheeks, but it was a lovely sight all the same.