Page 9 of Dark Shaman: The Lost Treasure (The Children Of The Gods #98)

TIM

" M i casa, su casa ." Thomas led Tim down the hallway to his spare bedroom.

"My previous temporary roommate moved out only a week ago, and when Ingrid asked me if I was willing to host another newcomer for a couple of weeks, I said why not?

I got used to having company, and now the house feels empty. "

Tim had a feeling that Thomas would soon regret his hospitality.

In his experience, people could tolerate him in small doses but quickly got tired of him when exposed to his particular brand of humor for longer than a few minutes.

He didn't blame them. He gave them plenty of reasons to dislike him, but hey, it was better to be hated for being nastily funny than for no reason at all.

"What happened to your other roommate? Was he also a dormant carrier of those super genes who transitioned to better things?"

"No, Din was already an immortal." Thomas opened the door to the bedroom. "He was visiting from Scotland and decided to stay. He and his mate, Fenella is her name, they got their own house."

Tim wasn't really listening. Instead, he was admiring the room.

It was nice. Like a magazine picture, nice.

The room was spacious, featuring a king-sized bed, a small seating area facing the sliding doors that overlooked the backyard, and a large screen mounted on the wall.

Everything looked new and clean. Compared to this, his apartment in Santa Monica looked like a hovel.

An expensive hovel.

He was shelling out nearly three grand a month on a one-bedroom in a building that was at least seventy years old with appliances that hadn't been updated in the last thirty years, just because it was within walking distance from the beach, like twenty minutes of walking and no view, but who was counting, right?

"Thank you," he remembered to tell Thomas before dropping his duffle bag on the floor. "I appreciate you opening your home to me."

His late mother would have been proud of him, remembering how to be polite.

Frankly, it was difficult to drop the snark after decades of perfecting it, but he was a guest, so he at least had to try.

"You are most welcome." Thomas offered him a bright smile that transformed him from enviably good-looking to jaw-droppingly handsome.

This village of perfect immortals was not the heaven Tim had imagined. It was his personal hell—a troll in the land of Barbie and Ken dolls.

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" Thomas asked.

"That's the best offer I got today."

Thomas chuckled. "I would think that the prospect of immortality would be a better offer than a drink."

"A drink isn't going to kill me, and it's going to calm my nerves. Can't say that about the transition Andrew told me about."

"True that," Thomas agreed.

Andrew had been telling Tim bits and pieces about immortals and gods throughout the drive to Tim's place and then to this hidden village.

He'd told him how some other immortals called Doomers wanted the immortals Andrew was with dead, but after a while, it had all become one big salad in Tim's mind.

All he could think about was the upcoming induction ceremony that sounded like something from a horror movie.

"So, on a scale of one to ten, how likely am I to die during my transition?" Tim asked.

"We've never lost a Dormant during transition, so I would say very low."

"That's what Kian said." Tim shuffled after the guy into the living room. "But you all have that look. You know, the one people get when they're trying not to mention that your fly is open or you have spinach in your teeth."

"I assure you, your fly is closed, and your teeth are clean."

Tim snorted. "Smartass. You know what I mean."

Thomas leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. The guy was massive—not just tall but built like someone who bench-pressed cars for fun. Tim tried not to feel like a hobbit in comparison. A pudgy, balding hobbit who hated to walk, let alone bench press anything.

"The transition can be difficult," Thomas said.

"Some Dormants lose consciousness for days or even weeks, and the older you are while undergoing it, the tougher it gets.

But you'll have the best care possible. Our doctors have plenty of experience with transitions by now, and they will take good care of you.

" He flashed that beautiful smile again.

"Instead of focusing on how difficult it will be, focus on all the benefits you will reap.

You'll improve in every way you can imagine. "

Andrew had improved, that was true, but he'd been a good-looking guy before his transition.

Tim still couldn't believe he'd fallen for Andrew's explanation that a Swiss spa was responsible for all the changes he'd undergone, including growing taller by what looked like two inches.

Spinal realignment, he'd said, and Tim had believed him.

What a fool he'd been.

Still, he had no illusions about becoming a model after his transition.

Remodeling a shack wasn't going to turn it into a mansion, no matter how much was invested into fixing it.

The only way to make it look good was to demolish it and start over from scratch, but they were not talking about rebirth and reincarnation.

They were discussing ways to improve on what was already there.

"Unless this transition comes with a complete body reconstruction, I'm still going to look like the 'before' picture in a fitness ad."

Thomas laughed. "Chances are that you will look like the after picture, but it won't come without putting in the work."

"Yeah, well," Tim muttered. "I'm starting from a deficit, and I'm not good at setting goals and sticking to them. My idea of exercise is walking from the couch to the fridge."

Thomas laughed, and he didn't try to counter the self-deprecating statement, which Tim appreciated in a twisted way. At least the guy was honest.

Tomorrow was the big day, his induction ceremony, and after hearing what was involved, Tim had hoped that Andrew would volunteer to be his inducer, but he hadn't exactly jumped at the opportunity, claiming that it required a precision he hadn't mastered yet.

Translation—he didn't want to put his mouth on Tim's neck, and he couldn't even blame him.

Tim wouldn't have wanted to bite his wobbly neck either.

Andrew didn't like him, but that was fine.

He preferred to be feared rather than pitied.

Anyone talking shit about him found lovely caricatures of themselves tacked to every surface in the building.

His personal favorite was Jenkins from accounting, whom he drew as a weasel in a suit, counting pennies while the building burned around him.

Thomas pushed away from the counter and walked over to the bar. "What's your pleasure?" He opened the glass doors to reveal quite a collection of fine whiskeys.

"Holy shit," Tim breathed. "Is that a Macallan?"

"Aged thirty years." Thomas pulled out the bottle and poured two generous measures.

Tim accepted the glass reverently. "This stuff costs more than my car."

Thomas lifted an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that you are being paid well by the government and doubling that with all the private commissions you are accepting."

"Yeah, but I don't like spending my money. I'm a hoarder. My car is a twenty-year-old Honda Civic."

"That's another benefit of becoming immortal." Thomas lifted his glass. "You'll get a special car equipped with self-driving and windows that turn opaque. I'm sure you noticed that when Andrew brought you here."

"Yes, I did." Tim took a small sip from the superb whiskey, determined to savor it. "Your hidden vampire lair. That's essentially what you are, right? Vampires? The whole biting and venom thing is like something from a horror movie."

"We're not vampires," Thomas said. "We don't drink blood, we don't burn in sunlight, and we don't turn into bats."

"Shame about the bat thing. That would have been useful." Tim studied Thomas. "Hey, since we're going to be roomies and all, do you want to tell me your story, starting with how old you are?"

"I'm not much of a storyteller."

Right, so he was the silent type. Although that wasn't the impression Tim had gotten so far.

"Come on, give me something. I'm nervous as hell about tomorrow and could use the distraction."

"What would you like to know?" Thomas asked.

Bingo! When snark failed, it was pity to the rescue.

"The biting thing. How does it work? And don't give me the sanitized version. I want to know what I'm in for. Does it hurt? Can it kill me?"

"It hurts, but only for a moment. As soon as the venom hits your system, you'll go on the best psychedelic trip of your life. We've never had a guy die from being injected with too much during the induction ceremony, but theoretically, it's possible."

"Great." Tim took another sip. "You look like a competent fellow. Can you be my inducer?"

It was a long shot, but there was no harm in asking.

Thomas shook his head. "I'm not the right person for that."

"Why?"

"I lack the required finesse. The bite needs to deliver exactly the right amount of venom. Too little and the transition fails. Too much and it can be fatal."

Tim's hand tightened on his glass. "But you've just said that no Dormant ever died from too much venom."

"That's because we're very careful about who performs inductions. Only those with excellent control are permitted."

"And you don't have excellent control?"

Thomas's jaw tightened. "I'm out of practice. I haven't induced anyone in centuries."

That sounded like an excuse. The guy just didn't want to do it.

Tim held out his glass. "I'm going to need more whiskey."

Thomas obliged, pouring another generous measure.

"You know…" Tim studied the amber liquid, "I've been thinking about this whole thing. What if it doesn't work? What if I'm not a Dormant? That would be such a tragic waste of my two-week annual vacation time."

Thomas shrugged. "I'd say it's worth sacrificing to find out whether you can turn immortal or not. If you try and fail, you'll just go back to your life, and we'll make you forget that this ever happened. We can even implant fake memories of a wonderful vacation in your head."

"You make it sound so appealing."

"It is. Just tell whoever is going to do the thralling your preference. Paris? Tokyo?"

"Can I ask for a hot babe to accompany me on my imaginary vacation?"

Thomas's expression turned doubtful. "That depends on how good that person's thralling is. It's easier to implant visual memories of locations than the emotional complexity of a relationship."

"Right." Tim emptied the second shot down his throat.

It was such a waste to drink fine whiskey that way, but it was an even bigger shame that he couldn't get a hot babe even in his imaginary holiday.

Who would want to hook up with a guy who looked like him and had the social skills of a Rottweiler?

Hot babes weren't exactly lining up to spend time with him.

"Have you ever heard about Perfect Match?" Thomas asked.

Tim snorted. "Who hasn't? They run commercials on late-night TV when lonely schmucks like me are awake and seriously contemplating shelling out three grand for a three-hour mind hook-up with some random chick that could be a guy pretending to be a babe."

"We have them in the village and they are free for our use. The wait-list is long, but if you put your name down now, you might be able to enjoy it before your two weeks are up. At least you won't be wasting your vacation time."

"You know what? I'll do that."

Thomas smiled and poured more whiskey into Tim's glass. "Let's drink to the wonders of modern technology and the relief it provides lonely souls like us."

Tim nearly choked on the whiskey. "You? Lonely?"

"It's not that easy for immortals. It's not like we can have human girlfriends, and the immortal females in the village are either our relatives or already mated."

It was shocking that an Adonis like Thomas was lonely as well and also comforting in a very selfish way.

Tim felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was the fact that he had that in common with a stud like Thomas.

"So, any advice for tomorrow?" he asked after a moment. "I mean besides 'don't die'?"

"You'll need to put up a fight," Thomas said. "But you don't have to last long, and you don't need to be afraid. Just trust your inducer and let it happen."

"Let it happen. Right."

"You will be overpowered, and it's better to surrender willingly than to feel helpless."