Chapter 19
Nineteen
Rafe braced his forearms on the cool tiles of his shower and hung his head as the hot water hammered his shoulders, trying to work away the tension that had been his constant companion for roughly a week.
A week.
And still no word from Philippe.
He’d lasted all of twenty-four hours after the attack before he texted Philippe.
But there was no response.
He tried sending some playful selfies and silly memes.
He tried sending random texts.
But Philippe didn’t reply.
Yesterday, he finally gave in to threats. He threatened to drive over to Arsenault Manor and force his way in if Philippe didn’t reply just to prove that he was still alive and well.
The response had been immediate that time, if less than reassuring.
I’m well. Will be in contact soon.
A week without seeing Philippe’s beautiful, smiling face. Without being able to smell his light, citrusy cologne. Without being able to feel his wonderful arms wrapped around him or hear his musical laughter. It was like a limb had been hacked off.
Or his heart pulled straight from his chest.
A part of him was missing, and it was as if he couldn’t properly function without it. He wasn’t even bothering to go through the motions anymore.
After the fight at the construction site, Marcus had stubbornly brought him back to his own home rather than Rafe’s.
Bel met them there and proceeded to cluck over Rafe’s healing injuries while at the same time peppering him with questions over the wolves.
His dear twin couldn’t understand that Rafe hadn’t taken the time to figure out their species, size, age, and weight while trying to fight off their fucking teeth and claws.
Winter had appeared shortly before sunrise to deliver the bad news that he had managed to lose the vampire and his evil pets.
He tried to reassure them that he had some new leads to follow, but the lack of anything concrete was a heavy stone in Rafe’s stomach.
He’d already failed Philippe once; he couldn’t do it again.
It had to be why Philippe was refusing to talk to him.
The leader of the Arsenaults had turned to the Variks for help.
He’d looked specifically to Rafe to get them the information they needed.
And Rafe had failed at every turn. He failed to find the attacker who kidnapped Piper, and she ended up dead.
He failed to identify the vampires who chased and attacked Ezra, leading to the horrible injuries Philippe sustained.
Ezra was one of the Arsenaults’ strongest members.
Philippe couldn’t risk losing them so long as they were still under attack.
Philippe couldn’t afford to rely on the Variks any longer. Couldn’t risk trusting Rafe.
“Fuck this,” Rafe snarled as he violently turned off the water. He shoved his hands through his hair, slicking it back, and wiped the water from his face. Opening the shower door, he grabbed a fluffy white towel hanging on the warmer and started to dry himself off with brisk strokes.
He’d made it perfectly clear to Philippe time and time again that investigations and tracking killers was not his forte.
If the clan leader had been so damn determined to find this fucker, then he should have listened to Rafe in the first place and gone with Winter or Marcus.
He didn’t know shit about locating killers and stopping them.
He ran a nightclub. He drank, partied, and fucked.
The righteous anger lasted until he was standing naked in his closet. Exquisitely tailored clothes stretched out before him in a lovely array of colors and fabrics, but he didn’t see them. There was only Philippe and his beautiful moss-green eyes staring up at him with such hope and trust.
Rafe swallowed hard past the lump that had formed in his throat.
It didn’t matter that tracking a killer wasn’t his strong suit.
He’d wanted to do it for Philippe. A part of him longed to live up to all his expectations and more.
He wanted to be the person Philippe turned to when he was worried or angry about something.
But he’d failed so spectacularly when he tried.
And he was terrified if he kept trying, Philippe was going to be the next one to die.
Without really looking at what he grabbed, Rafe pulled on a pair of black slacks and a black button-down shirt. Black was his mood. It was almost tempting to replace all the colors in his wardrobe with black.
He was searching for a pair of socks when a familiar feeling pressed against him. There was a vampire close.
No, Aiden was close.
And not just close. He was in the penthouse.
He didn’t know how it was even possible. He should have known the moment Aiden was in the same damn city. Fuck, he should have known the moment Aiden was in the country. Pain and frustration had his head so fogged that he’d not even noticed it until Aiden was in his own damn home.
Rafe dropped the black trouser socks he’d picked up and ran from the bedroom. His bare feet squeaked across the floor when he came to a sharp stop at the sight of Aiden lounging on the sofa, a little half smile on his weary face.
“You’re here,” Rafe whispered. His brain wasn’t yet working beyond stating the obvious.
Aiden’s smile grew, and he pushed to his feet.
Rafe closed the distance between them in just a few hurried steps and threw himself into the man’s open arms. They closed around him, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt truly safe and loved.
Since he’d first met Aiden at the age of eleven, the man was his father. He was the impenetrable wall that protected him from the outside world. He was the kind and gentle hand, guiding and helping him. He was the voice of reason when Rafe got some crazy idea in his head.
Drawing in a ragged breath to get a hold of his emotions, Rafe inwardly winced at the broken sob that escaped. Aiden’s arms tightened even more. It was like he was trying to press Rafe deep into his own chest to hide him from anyone who might try to hurt him.
“Let it out, Rafe. My dear, soft-hearted son. Let it out,” Aiden whispered. His hand slowly ran up and down Rafe’s back, easing out one choked sob after another as if only he knew where they were hidden within Rafe’s frame.
And he did. Rafe pressed his face into Aiden’s strong shoulder, held on to his father, and cried. He cried for the death of Julianna and all the suffering she’d experienced during the past decades. He cried for the pain suffered by himself and his brothers thanks to their mother’s illness.
He cried for Aiden. Even if he felt only a fraction of what Aiden felt for Julianna, then he truly didn’t understand how Aiden was even functioning. Philippe was still alive and well, but the thought of never seeing him again was ripping him apart.
Time passed and Rafe slowly pulled away from Aiden, wiping his face.
He felt foolish but lighter. There had been no tears after Julianna’s death.
He’d been sure he’d shed them all a long time ago.
The mother he’d known and loved had died when she’d become a vampire.
But apparently, there had been a part of him that still needed to say good-bye. To let her go.
Aiden’s gentle but firm hands steered him over to the couch and pushed him down.
Rafe watched as the man who’d never been in his penthouse before confidently walked over to the bar and picked up two tumblers.
Bending over, he grabbed a bag of blood from the mini fridge and turned to the wall of alcohol behind him.
A little smile pushed at the corners of Rafe’s lips as he watched his father scan the labels until he finally found the one he was searching for.
Aiden’s favorite. Even if Aiden never came to his home, Rafe was careful to always keep a bottle on hand.
Nimble fingers broke the seal on both the bag and the alcohol. He expertly mixed two glasses of blood and scotch, then brought them over to the sofa.
“Thank you,” Rafe said in a scratchy voice as he accepted the offered glass. “Have you seen Marcus, Bel, and Winter?”
Aiden paused in the act of sitting in the chair closest to the sofa and gave Rafe a look as if he’d lost his mind. He sat down and held his glass in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees. “Yes, I’ve seen them. I’ve been staying at Marcus’s…for the past two nights.”
Rafe nearly choked on the swallow of alcohol. “What?” he gasped around the burn in his throat.
“Two nights. I fully expected to see you stroll through his door at any second, full of your usual cocky sass, but you never appeared. Marcus said you were recovering, which I apparently didn’t understand as I needed to.
I thought it was one of your typical bacchanal recoveries, but that wouldn’t have stopped you from appearing at Marcus’s. ”
Setting his glass on the coffee table in front of him, Rafe lowered his head and shoved a hand through his damp hair.
He didn’t even know where to begin when it came to Philippe, or if he wanted to say any of it out loud just yet.
Everything was a horrible mess, and he’d wronged not only Philippe with his failings but also let down his brothers.
Aiden broke the long stretch of silence with almost whispered words. “I took your mother home.”
Rafe nodded, surprised that the lump he had just gotten rid of was trying to return. “That’s what Winter said.”
“Do you remember the ring of trees in the woods behind the house?”
Almost against his will, a smile formed and Rafe nodded again as the memory came back with startling clarity.
“We placed candles in old wine bottles and had a picnic there. You and Mother danced while I played. Winter pretended to be a pirate and stole the strawberry tarts Mrs. Morton had made,” Rafe said, finishing with a chuckle.
“She’s there.”