Chapter 4 #2
“Do you know how your TV works? Or your microwave?” I counter. “You use them every day without knowing the exact details, because you trust the manufacturer.” I wave toward the living room, where I can hear conversation. “David wove these wards and the ones at my place, and I trust him.”
His jaw sets stubbornly. “I guess,” he concedes in that tone he uses when he knows I’m right but doesn’t want to admit it.
Which gives me ammunition, of course.
I open my mouth to say something about how he should trust his elders and betters, but Alistair makes an impatient noise and pushes past me to grab Noah in a bear hug.
Hellhound hug? Either one makes you feel like your bones are going to crack.
I’ve never seen anyone hug Noah before—he’s not exactly the touchy-feely type—and I watch with fascination and concern.
I’m ready to pull Alistair off if it looks like Noah is struggling, but he seems to be okay—somewhat flummoxed, with his arms sticking awkwardly out from his body, but okay.
“Happy Birthday!” Alistair shouts, and the voices in the living room go quiet, followed by a rush of footsteps.
Sam bursts into the entryway first, freezes when he sees Alistair squeezing Noah, hesitates for a second, then throws himself at them both in what looks to be a group hug with one unwilling member.
“Happy Birthday!” he exclaims, his voice somewhat muffled because his face is buried against Alistair’s arm. “We have cake and presents!”
Gideon comes to a stop beside me, tips his head to the side, and asks, “What the fuck are they doing?”
I shrug. “Celebrating Noah’s birthday, it appears. It’d be more interesting if they were naked.”
His head whips around, and he glares at me. He’s so predictable. I can’t even joke about seeing Sam naked without him getting all possessive and protective. It’s one of my new favorite ways to tease him.
And speaking of ways to torment Gideon… “Did you have fun planning the party?”
His glare turns into the kind of glower that would cause a lesser being to piss its pants. Lucky for me, I’ve known Gideon since he was literally in diapers, and it’s almost impossible to be afraid of someone when you’ve heard their nanny coo over their “plumpy-wumpy little tushie-tush.”
Just thinking about it makes me grin.
“I know it was your idea,” he hisses. “And I will get you for this.”
“Aww, but look how happy Sam is.” I gesture to the group hug, which has to be setting records for both duration and awkwardness. Maybe I should rescue Noah. I could mention to him how pissed Gideon is about having this party. That should freak him out.
Gideon turns back to look at the love of his life, his love’s annoying best friend, and the human Sam’s semi-adopted. “It makes him happy,” he mutters, and it has the rhythmic quality of a mantra he’s been repeating to himself.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn to see David eyeing Gideon warily. “Did you break him?”
I put on my most indignant expression, but he holds up a hand before I can open my mouth.
“Just… let’s untangle Noah before he has a panic attack or something.”
I glance back toward the group hug and see that Noah is now very awkwardly patting Alistair and Sam on their backs in a way that signals he’s ready to be let go of.
“Sam, can I cut the cake?” I ask loudly, and Sam makes a sound that’s somewhere between a shriek and a squeal and instantly wriggles free. He turns on me with an expression that promises instant death if I even go near the cake.
“Leave the cake alone, Andrew! I mean it. That’s Noah’s to cut. Go eat a mini quiche or one of the bacon-wrapped figs.”
Whoa.
“There are bacon-wrapped figs?” I breathe. That’s some fancy food for a casual birthday party thrown together at the last minute. I was expecting sandwiches and whatever he could find in the freezer aisle at the local community grocer.
“I called the caterer and offered them five times their usual fee to blow off their client for tonight and give us the food,” Gideon says, a note of smug pride in his voice.
“You what ?” Sam’s shriek echoes through the entry hall. I guess he didn’t know.
I prop myself against the wall and prepare to enjoy the show along with everyone else. Alistair’s let go of Noah and has an expression of utter delight on his face.
Noah just looks stunned.
“Gideon, you’ve ruined someone’s party! What if it was a special occasion? What if someone is right now crying hysterically because their birthday or anniversary or engagement party has no food?” Sam sounds on the verge of hysterics himself.
Gideon shrugs. “They could have made a counteroffer.”
David, being the responsible (boring) type, lunges forward and grabs Sam before he can throw himself at Gideon and claw his face off. I mean that literally—Sam is one of the rare shifters who can partially shift, and his claws have just sprouted from his fingertips. He must be super mad.
“What’s the big deal?” Gideon asks. “You were freaking out about getting food ready in time. I said I’d handle it, and I did.”
The snarl that comes from Sam’s throat is definitely not human, and David tightens his grip.
“Uh, Gideon,” he says, struggling with a furious Sam, “I think Sam would have preferred you not ruin someone else’s party while you ‘handled’ it.”
“But I didn’t,” he protests, meeting Sam’s gaze. “The caterer called the client, and they happily accepted for me to pay for them to go out instead. I got them a couple of tables at that fancy new restaurant on the Riverwalk.”
I wince, because that place has been booked out since it opened and probably is for months, so Gideon would have had to splash out some serious cash to make that happen.
Fortunately, I know for a fact that they keep the tables widely spaced specifically so there’s room for last-minute VIP bookings.
They just rearrange the tables and add another one.
It’s ingenious. My designer friend who planned the interior told me so when I suggested it.
Sam stops trying to get away from David and narrows his eyes at Gideon. “You’re sure you didn’t ruin their night?”
Gideon shakes his head emphatically. “The woman said she was thrilled to be able to show off her new outfit to strangers instead of just at home with her kids and grandkids. And I told them to order whatever they wanted from the bar too.” He sounds earnest now. He hates when Sam is mad at him.
Sam humphs. “Okay then. But next time, maybe tell me this stuff upfront instead of just saying you found a caterer.” He looks at David. “You can let go now. I’ve decided not to kill him.”
David steps back. “I’m actually not sure if I’m glad about that or not.” He pats Sam on the shoulder, then looks past him toward Noah, who’s trying to mask his shell-shocked expression with one of boredom. “Happy Birthday, Noah. Come on in and we’ll get you some food.”
Sam gasps and spins around. “Noah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene at your party. Come on, I went and bought that avocado and roasted red pepper dip you like.” He grabs Noah’s arm and leads him past us all and through to the living room. The rest of us follow.
“That was fun,” Alistair murmurs to me and Gideon.
Gideon thumps him in the gut.
I ignore them both and make a beeline for the food table.
The party Gideon stole the caterer from must have been for vampires—or at least had some vampires attending—because several of the food options are blood-infused.
Even without the handy discreet labels, I would be able to tell from the rich, amazing smell.
I grab a plate and load it up, then delicately bite into one of the steamed dumplings and sigh in delight.
You haven’t experienced true culinary glory unless you’ve had prawn simmered in O-neg and then wrapped in pastry.
“Does that have blood in it?” Noah sounds a little ill at the thought, and with my mouth full, I point him toward the equivalent dish without the added ingredient. “Thanks.” He grabs a couple of dumplings and adds them to his plate.
The next hour is pretty fun. It’s definitely a low-key event, with only those of us on the team and a few people from Sam’s old team here.
Percy couldn’t make it—the downside of being the lucifer and having unlimited access to existential magic is that you also have to spend a lot of time socializing and assuring very wealthy people of how important they are and that as a result, they should be giving their money to good causes.
Percy’s position isn’t an elected one, so he doesn’t officially have to campaign, but it makes things easier for everyone at CSG if he’s got civilians on his side.
Considering the big fuss when we rescued Sam and Noah and dismantled the CCA, he’s had his work cut out for him lately.
So I wander around the room with my frequently-replenished plate of food in one hand and a bottle of really good shifter brew in the other (which I put down when I need to eat— I’m not a barbarian), chatting with people I see all the time and basically just unwinding after a long week.
I’m talking to Jim from Sam’s old team and his wife, who’s also a vampire and is regaling me with the tale of some new protein-blood shake she tried that is supposed to taste like banana but actually tastes like “Jim’s dirty socks with some blood mixed in.
” Apparently she called the company feedback line to ask them how anybody could think it tasted like banana, to which the customer service rep said, “Between you and me, the people in research and development get high a lot.”
“What was I supposed to say to that?” she asks me. “I stammered like an idiot for a few seconds, and then the rep offered me my money back, and I took it.”
“Good call,” I reply. “Although, I wonder if the product would taste better if they put some of whatever they’re getting high on in it?”
Jim laughs while his wife, Andrea, just stares at me, jaw dropped. I’ve only met her once before, and clearly she doesn’t get my sense of humor. That happens sometimes.
The sound of hands being clapped draws our attention to Sam, who’s standing in the middle of the room with a pile of shopping bags surrounding him. “Okay, everyone! It’s time for presents!”
Andrea gasps. “We didn’t bring a present!” she hisses, grabbing Jim’s arm—tightly, judging from the way he winces. “You told me we didn’t need to!”
Jim pats her shoulder with his free hand. “Sam told me we didn’t,” he whines, looking at me pleadingly. “Andrew?”
I’m tempted to mess with him, but Andrea looks like she’s on the edge, and I don’t think Sam would react well to another scene at this party—even if he did cause the first one himself. “He told me the same. Since it was all so last-minute, he said he’d handle the present-giving.”
Andrea relaxes and unfurls her grip on Jim’s arm.
There’s a set of neat holes where her claws sliced through his shirt, but no blood, so she must have held back from actually puncturing his skin.
Not to sound sexist or anything, but this is why I mostly stick to men.
A man is more likely to punch you in the face, but he won’t ruin your shirt.
Women know how to get you where it really hurts.
I smooth my hands down the sleeves of my shirt, just to make sure it’s okay. The fabric is so soft and fine. Thank fuck I didn’t get any blood on it today. Can you believe Noah would have just thrown it into the washing machine?
I shake my head in remembered incredulity.
Meanwhile, Sam’s drawn a reluctant Noah out of the crowd and sat him down in a chair that’s been brought over just for that purpose.
Noah doesn’t look terribly excited to be on display for all of us to watch as he opens gifts.
In fact, I’m pretty sure I can see the moment he decides to tell Sam it’s not going to happen…
and then his gaze lands on Gideon and he changes his mind.
It’s kind of pathetic. Maybe I should tell him about Gideon’s little tushie-tush. That might help him get over this fear.
But where’s the fun in that?
Sam hands Noah the first bag. “I didn’t have time to wrap them,” he says apologetically, “but I figure taking each one out of a bag is almost as good.”
Noah forces a smile that looks more like a grimace.
“You really didn’t have to,” he says, and then with a quick glance at Gideon, “but thank you.” He digs into the first bag and comes out with…
a brand-new tablet. “Oh, wow. Sam, this is too much!” It’s an automatic statement, because his face has lit up in a way I’ve never seen, and he’s running his fingers over the box.
It’s like a one-two punch to the chest and the dick.
The chest, because how could we have overlooked this?
Noah had literally nothing when we rescued him.
He’d been wearing the same single set of clothes for a year .
We bought him clothes and set him up with a job and the basics in an apartment…
but obviously we forgot that he might need more than basics to feed his soul.
The money he makes at CSG is decent, but certainly not enough to splash out on pricey electronics after only a few months, evidenced by his basic-model smartphone.
As to the punch to the dick… all these months, I knew he was a good-looking man, but I never noticed how beautiful he really is. That smile… He glows.
So I’m faced with a dilemma. He’s a snarky, tough, no-nonsense, budding asshole of a man, and I won’t lie, that’s usually my type.
Inexperienced guy cheats death to escape evil scientists and survives for a year hiding under their noses?
That’s super hot. But I didn’t want to piss off Sam—and thus Gideon—by making a move.
Plus, he needed some space to work through his trauma.
And Percy would have killed me. Not to mention it’s entirely likely Noah would have killed me.
But seeing him lit up like this, and after the kiss I’ve been trying to convince myself was not that good (even though it completely was)… maybe death is something I’m willing to risk.