44. Mourning in the Shadows
MOURNING IN THE SHADOWS
LEV
“ T his way, Blakely,” Lev called over his shoulder, checking again that Asher hadn’t taken a wrong turn. Why had Asher insisted upon trailing behind rather than holding his hand?
Silas appeared at Lev’s side mid-stride. “What do you think he’s thinking so loudly about back there?”
Lev ignored him.
“The tide’s receding. Perhaps he’s plotting his escape?” Silas matched his pace with Lev. “If he legs it, he might still make the ferry.”
Sod off, Lev wished he could say.
Lev cast another look behind him. Asher had stopped again, distracted by yet another bust of a long-dead relative Lev couldn’t care less about.
“Ah, yes. My great, great, great, great auntie Eleanor Crane. She married into the Marks family after being traded out in exchange for an aviary full of, well, I suppose you may have guessed. ”
A single dimple winked. The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Cranes?”
“God, no. Imagine what they would do to the ecosystem. It was an aviary full of me talking out of my arse.”
Asher elbowed him and his smile finally emerged.
“Most of my relatives are dreadfully dull, or terrible, or both, nobility and colonialism being what they were, and sometimes still are. Why are you so interested in them?”
He shrugged. “I’m not interested in them. I’m interested in you.”
“How sweet,” Silas teased.
Lev led Asher into a room stuffed with sculptures and framed paintings covered by clear plastic sheets.
Asher whistled. “Ran out of room?”
“Of course not. Lichenmoor is chock full of rooms to fill with art. These pieces serve another purpose.”
Lev lifted the bottom corner of a tarp thrown over a frame on casters that nearly touched the ceiling and shoved it aside. There was no door, or at least none anyone outside the Marks family would know of.
Asher laughed. “Where are you taking me?”
“If I told you, it would spoil the surprise. Stand back.” Lev stretched to lift the latch hidden behind a candelabra, and the double doors nested in the wood paneling opened outward, revealing the dark maw of a hidden hallway.
“Creepy,” Asher said.
“It’s just wind caught in the walls.” It was the positive pressure air control system. “This secret passageway is ancient.” Lev plucked the electric lantern he kept on a hook and turned it on. “You may want to hold my hand.” Lev was relieved when he felt Asher at the other end.
The hallway ended at the door to a vault.
“What the actual fuck?”
“It’s a bit much, isn’t it? Grandfather liked to keep his sterling and gold with him, like a dragon with a horde. Never trusted technology much.”
“You should tell him about how our dear grandfather got locked inside,” Silas suggested.
“Father was a dragon of a different kind.”
Asher’s eyes widened. “Wait. Are you serious? Your father’s collection is here?”
The collection wasn’t a secret, but the best way to prevent anyone from stealing it was if no one knew it was there in the first place. Father played into the air of mystery, but most people assumed his collection was kept in a high security archival storage facility.
Silas rubbed his fingers between his eyebrows like he had a headache, then threw his hand down.
“I can’t believe you prefer someone who gets this excited about an art collection over me.
God, it’s like Father is a celebrity.” He stroked his chin then snapped his fingers.
“Maybe he plans to lock you in the vault and take your art. A perfect death for you, don’t you think? Sounds like something I would write.”
Lev clenched his jaw and willed Silas from his mind. Vanquishing Silas was becoming more and more difficult.
“It’s a big deal that you’re showing me this.” Asher squeezed Lev’s hand.
“Good. I’m glad you understand that I care for you so much that I trust you to keep my secrets.”
Lev spun the vault wheel and pulled the heavy door open.
The vault was empty aside from a pair of commercial grade double doors that didn’t suit Lichenmoor at all. Lev unlocked the door and opened it. Fluorescent overhead lights clicked on automatically, one after another, illuminating row after row of archival drawers.
The windows had been boarded up, the rooms refurbished to be nearly fire and waterproof. Sensors and air-locked walls helped maintain the conditions required to preserve rare art. Father had even hired someone to install a back up generator for power outages.
“Father’s collection spans the entire floor,” Lev said, holding the door with his back. “After you.”
Asher hesitated on the threshold.
Lev cupped Asher’s cheek and met his gaze. “You belong here. You deserve this. I want you here. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lev kissed his forehead. “Shall we?”
They didn’t make it very far before Asher stopped.
“Are all those chests full of art?”
“Yes. Would you like to see?” He guided Asher to Fenton Milieu’s drawer and unlocked it with the second key on his ring.
Asher sucked in a sharp inhale and rushed forward, then paused to stuff his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t trust himself not to touch the dark, moody portraits in the shallow drawer.
“Crafting color has always felt like alchemy to me, like magic. Like you said.” Lev tipped his head in Asher’s direction.
“Milieu built his palettes with a hefty dose of black, darkening every color without losing their vibrancy, and embedded so much raw emotion in his art that each swipe of his brush was the warmth of a lover, a stab of betrayal, mourning in the shadows.” Lev wrapped his arms around Asher from behind and kissed the side of his neck.
“It reminds me of your work. Though no one could compare to you.”
“You can’t say things like that.” Asher turned his cheek and met Lev’s lips.
“But it’s true.” Lev reached around Asher to close the drawer.
“The art!” Asher yelped.
“The art will be perfectly safe while I kiss you.” Lev turned Asher around to face him and did exactly that .
Asher moaned against his lips and kissed him back, hands dropping to free the button of Lev’s trousers.
“What are you doing?” Lev asked, breathing fast.
Asher lowered to his knees and pressed his cheek against Lev’s growing erection. “Thanking you.”
Lev breathed through his nose, giving himself time to hide the anger and disgust from his tone. Asher was treating him like Ben, like their relationship was transactional. Did Asher really believe Lev needed that?
A dark shadow in Lev’s peripheral vision was the only warning before Silas dropped to his knees beside Asher. “Come on, Levvy, give us a taste.” Silas opened his mouth unnaturally wide, like his jaw had unhinged.
“No.” Lev grabbed Asher’s arm and jerked him up from the ground. Too fast. Too rough.
Asher winced.
Silas laughed. “Now you’ve gone and done it.”
“I’m so sorry, darling.” Lev hugged Asher against his chest, warily watching Silas climb to his feet. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength. Have I hurt you?”
“No.” Asher pulled back, scanning Lev with an impassive face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m quite alright, thank you,” Lev answered brusquely, cheeks flaming. “There’s so much more I want to show you.”
Silas materialized sitting on top of the drawers. “Nice save, but our boy is too clever.”
“Let me lock this.”
If Silas didn’t fuck off, Lev was going to break all his teeth off with how much restraint it took not to call Silas a cunt.
Silas kicked his heels against the metal drawers with a rattling clang. Kick. Clang. Kick. Clang.
Lev inhaled deeply and clenched his hands into fists.
Kick. Clang. Kick. Clang.
“You fell right into my trap.” Silas smiled until his lips ripped into his skin. “Now you love someone the way I love you. I can’t wait to watch you ruin him.”
Silas was wrong. Lev wouldn’t ruin Asher. He wouldn’t?—
“How long have you been staring vacantly having a conversation inside of your head, dearest Leviathan?” Silas shook his sleeve back from the black crew sweater and checked a nonexistent watch.
“Lev?” Asher curled his fingers around Lev’s wrist and tugged him away from Silas. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
Bless Blakely for accepting his answer, and allowing him to lead him forward without protest.
Silas did not follow. But he was always there. Always.
Lev played tour guide, ushering Asher down rows of paintings, pottery, rare books, and award-winning photography. The farther they waded into Father’s collection, the more tension fled him.
Every few minutes, Asher stopped to exclaim in wonder, ask a question, or thank Lev profusely with a hug or kiss or an impassioned speech on why he was so smitten with one piece or another.
Witnessing Asher’s joy warmed the chill Silas had left in Lev’s heart. Sharing this vulnerable piece of himself was terrifying, but he wished he’d taken him sooner. He couldn’t have planned a better first date—at Lichenmoor or elsewhere.
“Lucian collected everything,” Lev said of a cabinet filled with rare antique chess pieces.
“Don’t you think it’s a little sad that they’re all locked away here where no one can see them?”
Lev frowned. “I suppose you’re right. I haven’t given it much thought. We used to loan things out to museums quite often, but Father had grown so paranoid that he’d kept everything with him.”
They paused in front of a particularly formidable portrait Lucian had painted of his own father—face draped in shadow, green eyes contemptuous, wrath rapping at the windows of his soul.
“When Father chose art over business, Grandfather was so furious he chucked all of Father’s paintings off the cliff. The tide brought them back the next morning, utterly destroyed.”
“Did he push your grandfather off the cliff?”
Lev laughed. “I’m afraid not. Grandfather lived long enough to imprint himself on my memories as a bigoted arsehole.”
“Lucian must have hated him.”
Lev nodded. “The last nail in the coffin was when Grandfather forbade Lucian from marrying my mum because she came from a middle class family in Ireland.” Lev rolled his eyes. “The audacity.”