Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Alistair
I get a text from Sam about a conference call right before we get back to the condo. They’re ready for us, but I ask him for fifteen minutes. It won’t make or break us, and Aidan needs time to settle himself.
He hasn’t said a word since we left Jun’s estate.
The difference between this car ride and the one this morning—when he was also silent—was that then he was thinking sexy thoughts about what we could do to each other, and now he’s worrying about the safety of his people and the damage done to children.
He kept it together really well during lunch and even joined in singing a round of “It’s a Small World.
” But there’s just a tiny hint of strain to his smile, to the way his eyes don’t crinkle quite as much as usual, that tells me he’s struggling.
The fact I can recognize that even though before yesterday I’d only met him a handful of times means that I’m either super observant and amazing at my job—which I am—or this crush thing is much more involved than I thought—which I think it is.
Last night didn’t turn out the way I planned.
More than once, I mean. Originally, I thought we’d strategize for work and then turn in and get a good night’s sleep.
Then, there was serious thought given to propositioning Aidan and spending the night in a tangle of sweaty limbs.
That got killed off after I told Sam about Timothy and decided to spend the night wallowing in memories.
That didn’t happen either.
After what Sam and Aidan said, I made myself think about what happened a little more critically.
Yeah, it was traumatizing to have the man I thought I’d be with forever—well, for the span of his lifetime, anyway—try to burn me alive.
It broke my heart and embittered me toward love.
But here’s the thing: last night, I realized I can’t actually remember Timothy’s face anymore.
I remember the way he snorted when he laughed and how he rolled his eyes whenever I said anything he thought was stupid—which was much more often than was really warranted—but I can’t picture him.
He had a shock of wheat-blond hair and blue eyes, I remember that.
And he was good-looking in a way that made my stomach clench and my dick stand up.
He loved cuddling when it was just the two of us, but in public, he didn’t even want to stand too close to me.
He was paranoid that someone would guess we were more than friends, to the point that he would hardly acknowledge me if his family was around.
But when we were alone, he was affectionate and sweet and would fuss over me as though I was the most precious thing in existence.
And thinking back on all of that, I feel a pang of regret that it ended the way it did, that he and I could never have been anything more.
It still hurts that he tried to kill me…
but the pain isn’t sharp anymore. Just a dull ache, easily ignored.
I can think fondly of the good things between us but see how different we really were.
It’s unlikely Timothy would ever have felt comfortable coming out, and I would have gotten impatient with that.
We would have grown apart—possibly still have ended badly, although in a different way to how we did.
I loved Timothy, and it devastated me when things fell apart between us. But maybe the old cliché is right and time does heal all wounds, because although a tiny part of me will always remember the sweetness of my first love, it no longer makes me want to cut myself off from that part of my life.
Big step, huh? Honestly—and I know you’re going to find this hard to believe—I feel a little stupid for thinking I didn’t ever want a relationship again.
I mean, it basically took me a hundred and fifty years to get over a bad breakup because I was too busy feeling sorry for myself.
Sure, a man’s got a right to sulk a bit when his lover tries to make him part of his own funeral pyre, but I was sulking so much that I didn’t even notice that Timothy had become just another memory to me.
He’ll be long since dead, but I hope he had a nice life. I hope he was able to find happiness with someone and didn’t spend all his years hiding and alone. And now it’s time for me to get on with my life and maybe find someone to spend my years with.
Guess what? I’ve discovered a side benefit is of no longer being afraid of relationships!
I don’t have to avoid repeats anymore. Before, I was always nervous that hooking up with someone more than once would send the message that I might be open to more, so my motto was one-and-done (one occasion , that is.
We shifters have exceptional stamina. “All night long” isn’t just an expression for us).
Now… well, if I’m open to the possibility of more, repeats are on the table.
But I might have to up my game when it comes to saying I’m not interested. If I can’t turn down a fuck with a stranger because I don’t want to hurt their feelings, then need Noah to help me shake them off after a one-nighter, how am I going to break things off after a few dates?
I make a note in my phone to ask Noah for tips as Aidan parks the car in the garage.
Is it weird that I, a man nearing the end of his second century of life who has literally fucked more men than he can remember, am asking a twenty-year-old whose sexual encounters are undoubtedly still in double digits for dating advice?
Nah.
“Come on,” I say, scrambling out of the car. “I’ll make snacks while you go wash up. Sam said they’ll be ready for us in about ten minutes.” It’s a tiny white lie, but the momentary relief on his face makes it worthwhile.
He seems a little more relaxed when he comes downstairs just as I’m setting out the platter of fruit and cheese. We just had lunch, so this should be fine to graze on during the meeting. We’ll have a proper snack later.
“Thanks for setting this up,” he says, gesturing to the food as he takes the stool beside me. “I needed a minute.”
I find that—his open admission that he’s not impervious—so incredibly attractive. I’m not sure if it’s the pheromone things or the science of having a crush or just him, but I’m sure my eyes are doing that hearts-popping-out thing that happens so often in cartoons. I sigh dreamily.
He looks at me with that cute furrow forming between his brows. “You okay?”
Thankfully, my laptop chimes, because I’m pretty sure my reply would have included the words “do me now.” Which isn’t a bad thing, but we would have missed the very important meeting and a lot of people would have yelled at me. Plus, you know, the fate of the world.
Sometimes it’s tough being awesome.
“Fine,” I say instead, hitting the button to accept the call. There’s the usual delay while the encryption resolves, and then the image of Percy’s office appears.
Sam’s looking right at the camera with his finger over his lips, so I don’t say anything, then David says, “Okay, we’re good.”
Privacy wards. That reminds me again that we don’t have any wards here at all, not even basic ones.
Sorcerers are the only ones who can create them—well, and some humans, as Noah has proved—and we don’t have the time to find a local sorcerer to set something up, especially since we only plan to be here a few days.
Nobody but Sam knows exactly where we’re staying, though.
Aidan and I agreed that if anyone asked today—which of course they did—we’d name one of the bigger hotels downtown.
And he deliberately took a circuitous route coming back from Jun’s place.
Plus, it’s not that easy to sneak up on shifters. I’m the super sniffer, remember? Or was it the supreme snifferoo? Our hearing is excellent as well. They’d need to be highly trained experts, which we don’t think Tish has anymore after we raided his compounds.
Still, I make a mental note to set up some booby traps that will give us at least a little warning if someone tries to get in.
“So, what happened?” I ask, shaking off thoughts of anything else. There’s nothing I can do for now.
Percy sighs. He looks worn, which is very unlike him. Even when he’s tired, the magic usually gives him… I don’t know. A glow? That sounds stupid. But now it’s like the magic is…
Whoa. I didn’t think of that, but the magic clings very closely to Percy—and Aidan. It stands to reason that what they know, it knows. As much as anything about the magic is reasonable, that is. Does that mean the magic is sad right now?
Gideon is the one who speaks, and from the glance he shoots at Percy, I know I’m not the only one who’s noticed the difference and is worried about it.
“The two boys are being held in different parts of the facility, and we saw them separately, but they both had the same visible reaction when they saw Percy. Shocked confusion is how I’d describe it.
It threw them both right off stride—they were so busy sneaking peeks at Percy and trying to pretend they weren’t that they didn’t pay as much attention as they should have to what I was asking them. ”
“They so obviously didn’t understand,” Percy adds quietly.
“We had a casual kind of chat,” Gideon continues, and I almost laugh out loud at the idea of Gideon “chatting,” casually or otherwise.
Sam tells me he’s capable of it, but I know him as a surly but scarily efficient grump.
“About growing up in a small town—or just outside it, in their case—and what that was like. Schooling, entertainment… all that stuff. It became clear quickly that they had a very basic education.”