Nathaniel
I’M IN THE KITCHEN, cleaning up from breakfast as Theodora walks in.
“Lady Theodora,” I greet, wiping my hands on a rag as I turn to face her.
“Barfred,” she says gently, smiling the way she always does. Soft and unguarded, as if nothing in this world could ever touch her. “How are you this morning?”
“I’m well, ma’am. How are you?”
“Just fine.” She rests her palms on the island between us gracefully. “I’ve come to tell you that Julian will have his friends joining him today. We’re going to try and give him some space.”
“His… his friends?” I ask.
We are prohibited from bringing guests into Chastain Castle, especially since Atlas started dealing with his curse.
I can still remember the morning after his eighteenth birthday, when the young boy came running from his bedroom in tears.
Dealing with his demon—an incubus, more specifically—became a burden that the entire estate had to shoulder. A secret we’ve all kept. And now our new attendee is bringing his… friends? Straight into the fray?
“Yes,” Theodora confirms, her smile slightly strained. “Julian has faced some complications lately, and I feel he could use the comfort of it. Just… make sure not to say anything. If you encounter them, just be your usual nice self.”
My usual nice self doesn’t truly exist. Sure, I put my best foot forward at work, but I’m not truly such a nice guy. A bit too impulsive, overly obsessed with justice, and far too possessive of those I care about—but not inherently kind.
I nod anyway, smiling as she floats out of the room. Her opinion of me is far more important than the truth, anyway.
Back in my late twenties, before I managed to escape Austin, Texas, I was working as a chef at a local seafood restaurant. The days were long, and the pay was shit—add on what had happened with my family, and I was dying to get out of Texas.
And then I made a particularly delectable rendition of stuffed crab on greens, and the customer who ordered it wanted to meet the cook who whipped it up. That customer? Abraham Chastain.
After making him two more dishes—mushroom soup and steak, medium rare, with garlic roasted asparagus—he offered me a job.
One that moved me far away from Austin and gave me a stipend to rent a little house not far from the estate. And yes, I never saw myself working in a castle on some remote cliff. And sure, I know nobody here but the Chastains themselves, but I’ve never been happier.
Plus, the organization allows me to work remotely. Not that I’m paid—it’s more of a justice thing. A top-secret, stressful, and fulfilling justice thing.
“And this is the kitchen, though I don’t go in there a lot. Our cook, Barfred, is normally pretty…” Julian’s words, which I can hear through the closed kitchen door, trail off as three sets of footsteps are led further down the hall.
He must be giving his friends a grand tour of the estate. I’m sure he knows not to show them the west tower; Julian’s a smart guy.
I believe that Julian and Jeremy were smart hires.
After being here for so long, treating this family as my own, I’ve become a bit protective of them.
But Jeremy is kind and wise, always willing to assist and make himself useful.
And his son, Julian, is a natural when it comes to the youngest Chastain, Abigail.
Of course, Atticus detests him—Atticus detests anyone who interferes with his family. But everyone else loves the guy, and I can see why.
He’s charming. And if he were just a bit… brattier, I believe I would find myself attracted to him and his sturdy body.
But I guess it’s a good thing I’m not—I’ve seen the way Atlas eyes him. If the boy were able to date in his condition, I fear he’d be all over that. And Julian’s no better.
It makes me happy to see such loving families surrounding me. Between Julian and his father’s bond and the time I’ve spent getting to know the Chastains, I’m constantly reminded that families can be loving and good.
Abraham and Theodora, the Master and Missus of Chastain Castle, are doting and gentle. Their sons, Atticus and Atlas, are dutiful, brilliant young men. And Abigail, the youngest, is a sweet little thing.
All of these people are good-intentioned and kind—something I didn’t see a lot of growing up.
My family… well, they’re inherently evil. While I’m neutral between the two sides of yin and yang, they’re the bad side. Malicious. The side that was given their lot in life and used it to their advantage.
I have no remorse for what I did to stop them. I have no guilt for teaming with the organization and ridding the world of its tyranny.
“Excuse me,” a soft yet deep voice calls as I’m standing at the sink once more, my back to the door.
“Yes? How can I…” As I turn, my eyes fall on a man I’ve never seen before, and my words slowly die off. They disappear. They’re pulled from my body and completely discarded in the face of one of the prettiest, most vibrant men I’ve ever seen.
And I live with Atlas Chastain.
He’s got soft brown hair that’s neatly arranged to keep it from falling onto his forehead, bright, wide green eyes, and a body sculpted from marble.
This must be one of Julian’s friends. Of course he’s hot.
But would he test me? Would he fuel that desperate need to conquer and fight that I have simmering inside of my bones?
The man smiles, making his way slowly to stand on the side of the island that Theodora occupied not too long ago.
“How can I help you?” I finally finish.
He’s staring at me like he’s winning something, as if he knows exactly what his face and his body are doing to me in this moment. Like he’s used to being praised and fawned over.
“Julian sent me to ask for tea,” he says. “My name is Landon.”
Landon. It’s such a pretentious, pretty-boy name, and it suits him well. It’s perfect.
“Landon.” I test it out on my own tongue—how it tastes and how it sounds in the low timbre of my voice. “I’ll start the tea right away.”
Landon grins, his lashes falling half-mast over his eyes as he stares up at me. And I say up because he’s no taller than Julian is, and I tower over them both.
“Great. Please make mine lemon-ginger and include sugar and extra milk,” he commands.
I… wait.
The air around me seems to simmer, my hands moving before my brain commands them to. Landon is staring at me expectantly, like there is no way I’d be able to deny him.
And from his body, I can feel it. The tell-tale energy that pours from a man using the lot they were given in life. The gift they possess.
The breath he released when he spoke shimmers in the air around us, a light smoky color that sways and dominates the clean oxygen around it.
He’s forcing me. He’s fucking forcing me to make his tea as he pleases when he could have just asked. It’s my job, for Christ’s sake.
I pitter around, gathering three cups and dropping the correct tea bags in them as the kettle warms on the stove.
“Here visiting?” I ask, keeping my voice calm and collected.
I’ve dealt with these kinds of bastards before. The only thing he’s adding as a shock value to this situation is his startling good looks.
“Yes. My best friend Julian works here.” He says it with such pride, such affection, that it makes me want to cringe.
“That’s nice,” I offer, pouring the water into the mugs as I grab the sugar and milk. “How long are you staying for?”
Landon huffs a laugh, cocking his head at me. “Why all these questions?”
“Just curious. We don’t get visitors often.” It’s the truth. Not only do we not often have company, but I want to know how long I have before he slips away.
There is a wrong I need to right.
“Hmm,” Landon hums. “I leave later this evening.”
I mix his tea, leaving the others plain, before I set them onto a tray.
“I see.” As I speak, I lift my gaze to his, taking in the pure green of his eyes as I lean my hip against the side of the island. “One more question before you go.”
Landon stops reaching for the tray, his brow lifting as he grins at me. Oh, he thinks I’m about to flirt with him.
That’s funny.
“Go on,” he purrs.
“Do you often manipulate others into doing what you want?”
At my words, his eyes widen significantly, his arms dropping to his sides.
“Sorry?” he questions.
“I’m just curious,” I repeat, “as to why you felt the need to use your little gift on me when you could have just asked nicely like a good boy.”
His confused stare morphs into the hottest, most arrogant glare I’ve ever seen, so fast that I nearly get whiplash. “I did ask nicely. I even said please. And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right. Well, it seems you believed that please wouldn’t cut it. Or maybe,” I say, leaning forward slightly as I return his glare, “you are just too incredibly used to persuading people that you don’t even evaluate the situation first.”
Landon stands up straighter, his eyes assessing me analytically. He’s trying to figure out an escape route. Too bad for him, I hunt men like him for breakfast, and I never let my prey slip away.
“You’re awfully rude for a servant,” he comments, and I nearly flinch at the word.
Servant? Really?
“And you’re awfully pretentious for a little nobody,” I counter, feeling his rage flicker and ignite.
“A nobody?” Landon repeats, sneering without remorse. “You don’t even know me.”
“I don’t have to know you. Any man who believes they need to brainwash someone to make tea for them must be very insecure.”
Suddenly, Landon moves. He rounds the side of the island until he’s right in front of me, his chest heaving as he stares up at me.
“Apologize,” he demands. And as he opens his mouth again, and the air around us begins to shimmer, I know he’s about to make me. “Apolo—”
My hand clasps over his mouth, pressing his back into the marble island.
“How old are you? Mid-twenties?” I sneer, shoving my palm tightly against him. “You should be able to read a room. You should recognize those who are stronger than you.”
And then the room around us shifts. Fog pours in from every corner, every open cabinet, as the walls begin to lose their form, swaying slightly.