Page 23 of Seared Fates

Gone is Apollo’s normal happy, snarky voice; now it slices out like a cold wind, raising the hairs on my neck and shutting me up faster than if he’d shouted. When he looks at me, expression hard as a gravestone, I see the vampire that’s been lurking there all this time.

His fangs aren’t out, his posture hasn’t changed.

But…

There's a Serbian artist I admire calledDragan Bibinwho painted a series of dogs. Watching dogs, waiting dogs, running dogs—always with an undercurrent that gave me pause. Like there’s something beyond the canvas. Something…unsettling.

But I don’t give a fuck if Apollo's barking at me. He’s my friend, and the world might be upside down, but some things don’t change.

I storm over and grab his forearm, shaking him from whatever stupor he’d fallen into. “It’s okay, Apollo. Whatever this is, it’s okay.”

Apollo doesn’t speak or move. Yet his eyes shine with something like guilt, and I wonder if he’s about to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry about the thing I’m forgetting, because I know—” he stops, like waking from sleepwalking and unsure of his next step. Then tilts his head and smiles. “What were we talking about?”

I try to return the smile, but it’s awkward, and I squeeze his hand before letting go. Shit, I have no clue what to do. Summer might know. Or maybe he’s happier this way.

“Not important, mate,” I assure. “I’ll clean up and then head home, thanks again.”

“Any time, Kai.” He grins, big and wide. Only for it to drop when he opens the door to find Rurik leaning against the frame in a poorly lit hallway outside Apollo’s flat. “For fuck sake, not you again.”

“Good morning, Apollo,” Rurik greets, voice soft as cotton. Nothing like the hard glare my friend levels at the man who is his soulmate. Even if Apollo denies it.

How does Apollo not feel the tug of connection towards Rurik like I do with Vidar? Like the moment I laid eyes on Vidar a wound opened in my heart, and the closer we are, the less it hurts. If anything, Apollo wants more distance from Rurik, not less.

“Listen, asshole,” Apollo snaps. “I don’t know you. I don’t wanna know you. So stop bloody following me.”

Rurik only steps away so the little vampire can walk past, faintly amused. “Whatever you want, my star.”

Apollo scoffs, gesturing at Rurik with his thumb as if to say, ‘Can you believe this guy?’ before tugging the door shut. But Rurik presses a hand to it so it stays open, leaning over a bristling Apollo.

“Vidar is sorry about what he said,” Rurik tells me. No hint whether I should forgive him or not.

Crossing my arms and shrugging, I bite out, “Vidar can go fuck himself.”

“Yeah, fuck soulmates!” Apollo cheers, flipping Rurik off with both hands.

“Fuck me, hmm?” Rurik raises a cool eyebrow at Apollo.

Apollo’s eyes widen until I can make out all the deep reds and ambers in his dark brown irises. For long seconds, the two who were separated by years connect, and seem to find each other when Apollo moves forward and whispers, “Rurik…?”

Stunned, Rurik lays an open palm on Apollo’s cheek. “Yes?” he replies, so hopeful even my chest hurts.

I gasp. Is my friend remembering something?

The veil drops, and Apollo rips himself away, hissing like a hostile cat. “I don’t fucking know you, leave me the hell alone! See you, Kai.” And with his head low and shoulders hunched, Apollo stomps away.

I expect to see Rurik hurt. But a smile remains, and while it’s small, the glow which emanates from him is anything but, as he follows behind his soulmate who rose from the grave.

***

I take my time using up all of Apollo’s hot water in his closet-sized bathroom. When I’m dry and dressed, I glance at the fridge, stomach grumbling. Then hesitate at the thought of what sits in the freezer, bile rising in my throat at the idea of food touching the spellbook inside.

“Actually, maybe I’m not that hungry…”

For something I’m apparently connected to, I don’t feel a damn thing for the blood mage tome, unlike with Vidar, where I feel too much, and with that thought my mind takes me back to last night at Vampire Manor. Not at the stupid shit Vidar said, but to the fire blasting out of the painted purple symbols on my jacket.

I’ve only purposefully used my magic once—in the warehouse with Jace and his lunatic aunt, Emma. Before that, it was about not burning shit and yet last night it was like I’d been controlling this strange magic my whole life. Directed without thought but feeling, sure it lasted seconds, but the flames were hot as hell and all mine.