Page 12

Chapter 12

Moving In

Rory

T heir connection was permanent and eternal, like them—but Rory was perfectly happy to distance himself from his brother’s mind to give them both privacy. He kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to spook his brother, though he was cheered that Cian found someone who matched his particular type of chaos.

“The enforcers are dead,” Rory shared, “though Cian tells me of more approaching.”

“We need to leave, unless we wish to kill more of them,” Connie said in English for Daniel’s sake. “I have the power ready to transport us back to Boston.”

“Are you ready to leave, youngling?” Rory gently teased Rageshi in Gaulish, making the vampire huff out a laugh, ice-blue eyes full of mirth.

“I am myself again,” Rageshi said in the same language. He eyed Daniel, who stood at Rory’s elbow, close enough to touch. “Is the mage-sidhe your mate?”

“His name is Daniel, and I am so lucky to call him mine,” Rory replied. “As I am his.”

Rageshi nodded and gave Daniel a slow perusal, dipping his chin in a gesture of respect before turning away and watching Ricon, who was clearing up the mess they made with the blood bags. Ricon was stuffing the empty bags back into the backpacks. The spilled blood on the stone would feed any small critters in the cave system once they left.

Constantine stood where Rageshi had slept, the only relatively flat surface in the cave, and gestured for everyone to come near. The Way Between was a powerful gift, allowing Constans and those he traveled with to traverse great distances with a single step from one point to another. Daniel called it a wormhole in reality—Rory liked the word, and it illustrated the concept fairly accurately. Constans tore a hole in reality and it opened somewhere else, allowing him to step through to anywhere he wished. The only caveats to his gift was the need for an Invitation if the destination was a mortal’s home, and having the strength to open it to begin with—the longer the distance, the more time and power he needed to prepare.

“Take my hands and each others’,” Constans ordered. “It’s time to go.”

Rory made sure Daniel grabbed Constans’ hand and he held onto his mate, holding his free hand out for Ricon. Rageshi grabbed Constans’ other hand without hesitation—he’d likely traveled The Way Between before, since he was Constans’ sire.

A fissure of light appeared in front of Constans, spreading wider and growing taller until it was at least seven feet tall and twice that wide—it sounded like a roaring inferno, despite the process involving no fire, with a deep boom that shook the floor of the cave and which he felt through his boots. The edge of the wormhole was a terrible horizon of ripped reality, energy crackling like miniature bolts of lightning off the stone ground.

A room in the Tower was visible through the wormhole—neatly appointed with luxurious furniture and painted walls of gold and red, white marble flooring, and thick rugs with ornate designs. It reminded Rory of a suite in a palace—a timeless opulence that remained fashionable no matter the era.

Miguel, the young fledgling that Constans Turned a few months prior, was waiting on the other side of the wormhole, hands clasped at the waist and dressed in a dark suit, a serious expression on his face.

“Time to go,” Constans said, and he led them all through the wormhole.

Cian

The helicopter was easy to search—there was no gear or luggage inside, and near the pilot’s seat Cian found photographs of satellite imagery of the region, and a GPS locator that blinked on and off on an embedded screen in the dash, showing their location—reinforcements were coming. The pilot was spared–he’d run off into the woods and neither Cian nor Fenric felt like chasing down a random human who wasn’t much of a threat.

“Company?” Fenric asked from nearby where he was going through the dead enforcers’ pockets.

“I think so,” Cian replied, his experience with flying contraptions rather limited, but he understood how GPS and radar worked well enough. The radio inside the helicopter squawked loudly as someone demanded in French for the magistrate who lay dead in the grass to respond. “Another team of enforcers are heading this way. They know something is wrong.”

A phone rang in the night, and Fenric went to the dead magistrate and yanked a smartphone from his pants pocket, thumbing the screen as it continued to ring. “There’s someone calling from the High Council,” Fenric shared, and to Cian’s amusement, Fenric answered the phone.

“Hello,” Fenric said in English with a smile, eyes alight with deviltry. He put it on speaker. “How may I direct your call?”

There was a moment of stark silence, then a brusque reply. “Who is this?” The speaker had a heavy French accent, and Fenric grinned even wider at hearing the man speak.

“Master de la Roche! How lovely to hear from you again. How are your assassins working out for you?”

“You foul creature! How are you…put my magistrate on the phone!” de la Roche sputtered.

“He can’t come to the phone right now,” Fenric replied, as chirpy and happy as a kitten with a ball of catnip-infused yarn. He stood and literally skipped over to Cian, jumping neatly over the bodies, holding the phone level. “You’ll need to ask Necromancer Salvatore for a favor if you really need to speak to your magistrate. I doubt he wants to make the trip to the Armenian mountains, though. He strikes me as more of a city man, to be honest.”

After a particularly foul curse in French, de la Roche ended the call. Fenric shrugged, and went to work prying open the case and removing the SIM card. “Might be some useful intel on it. We don’t need the phone itself.”

He tossed the phone into the cabin of the helicopter where it landed with a clatter, and slipped the SIM card into a small pocket in his pants. “Anything in there we need?”

“No, nothing we don’t already know. Humans rely too much on technology anyway.” Cian said with disdain. “Let’s get out of here. Rory and the others have taken The Way Between back to Boston.”

“Any trouble with Rageshi?” Fenric asked.

“None. He’s in the Tower now,” Cian replied as he called to the underhill.

The ground was rocky and dry, and dust burst into the air as Cian summoned an arch. Golden rocks tumbled over each other as the arch assembled itself, dirt falling in clumps, tufts of light-green grass caught growing between rocks. It shuddered once and then stood as tall as Cian and as wide as it was tall. A bright light flashed within the arch, and then receded to show the interior of the temple.

The settee and chaise were gone, and in their place was Cian’s bed; beside the bed was an armchair and footstool he used when he read before sleeping. His bed was a low platform of solid, dark wood with an impressive carved headboard and covered in red silk sheets and pillows.

“Your doing, or is the underhill feeling flirtatious?” Fenric asked as he and Cian walked through the archway, leaving the forest preserve behind.

Cian dismissed the archway, and made sure nothing came through in the few seconds it took for the arch to fall away into nothingness. He gave Fenric an inquiring look before shrugging. “The underhill has a sense of humor. It knows what I’m doing, but it can get things wrong, too.”

“And here I thought I was getting lucky,” Fenric sighed, but he gave Cian a soft smile and a swift wink to show he was merely playing. “Don’t worry, I won’t push.”

Cian believed him. “I know.” He paused, wondering. “How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“Know not to push?”

“Oooh,” Fenric breathed out as he got it. He grinned. “Cian, I’ve been flirting with you since we met. I figured you out ages ago.”

Cian eyed Fenric doubtfully, trying to see any frustration or grievance at Cian’s nature and the fact that he was asexual. “Daniel says I’m ace. Asexual.”

Fenric nodded like he expected that answer. “That makes sense. I don’t mind. Is sex not a thing for you at all, or …?”

“Sex is fine. When I’m interested in having it, I enjoy it. Sometimes it’s a letdown, depends on the partner. Sometimes the desire for sex fades quickly, but then that tends to happen with shitty partners more often than not.”

“You might well be gray ace, or even demi, but those are labels for you to decide on, not me.”

“I’ve never really given them much thought, to be honest. Modern concepts of sexuality haven’t been something I’ve given much thought to, or even applied to myself. Some things I don’t know, and I need to think about them more. I do know sex hasn’t been something of interest to me for a long time.”

“Do you think sex with me might interest you?” Fenric asked softly, staring up at him earnestly through thick black lashes, bright green eyes as stunning as jewels. Specks of blood dotted his jaw and cheek from the fight.

“Oh, yes. Very much.” Cian breathed out. Yet he didn’t move, and Fenric didn’t either, following his lead. It wasn’t time; his feelings were powerful and edged him away from his typical equilibrium. He needed more time to process, to feel. “Just not right now.”

Fenric smiled, sweet with a hint of chaos. Utterly perfect.

“You let me know when or if that changes, please? I’d love to make love to you, but only if you really want it. Enthusiasm is sexy.”

“Is that so?” Cian asked, though he had trouble keeping the grin off his lips. Fenric was a delightful tease.

“Enthusiastic consent is sexy. There’s no denying it. Nothing makes me more aroused than knowing someone wants me as much as I want them.” That part was said with a soft smile and patient eyes. “It’s a turn off if you don’t want me as much as I want you. I can wait until you do.”

“I want you, but I…” he paused, sighing, running his hands over his braid, feeling nervous for the first time in a very long time.

This was Fenric, not some random stranger or a casual acquaintance who struck a rare cord with him on a lonely night—this was his friend, someone for whom he had feelings. He’d never been in this kind of situation. “It feels like I need to wake up my body to the idea of sex. The physical desire needs to burn hotter, in order to feel comfortable.”

Fenric nodded, biting his bottom lip, eyes bright. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me unless you want to. There is no pressure from me. We can go at your pace. Or not at all. I’m happy to be back in your life.”

“I’m happy you’re back in my life as well,” Cian replied, relaxing a bit. He held out a hand to Fenric, who took it and let himself be drawn into Cian’s arms. He hugged Fenric to him, and Fenric tucked his head under Cian’s chin and began a soft purr that Cian felt more than heard. Fenric fit perfectly in his arms.

The purr reverberated through him, chasing away the few nerves he had—he trusted Fenric to mean what he said about not pressuring him. He trusted Fenric. It was odd to trust someone so completely. There were so few people in that category—Rory, Daniel, and now Fenric. Angel he trusted, but only to an extent.

For now, though, they were both covered in blood and Cian had a fondness for modern showers. And they needed to return the underhill to the Salvatore estate.

On that thought, the underhill shimmered and shivered, a faint tremble and a sigh of power—and they were back in Massachusetts. The underhill settled into the earth beneath the conservatory as if it were made to be there.

“Did we return?” Fenric asked, pulling back enough to look at Cian’s face.

“We did,” he replied, impressed that Fenric could feel the underhill move. “Do you want to return to your inn or stay here? We both need a shower.”

“The blood is growing sticky, this is true,” Fenric sighed. “May I impose on you for a portal to my room? All my clothing is at the inn. But I would like to return, if I may?”

“Are you asking to move in?” Cian teased with a small grin, hoping Fenric would take the chance and say yes.

“I wasn’t, but if that’s an option I would love to stay with you.”

Cian found himself nodding before he even finished the thought. “This underhill was once home to many, and I would be happy for you to stay. You are sidhe enough to talk to the underhill—tell it what you need, and we shall see if it answers.”

“Truly?” Fenric squinted at him. “You won’t be upset if it answers me?”

“Of course not,” Cian replied. “I need not fear what you’ll ask of it.”

“You trust me that much?” Fenric breathed out, eyes wide.

“I’ve always trusted you that much.” Cian gently nudged Fenric. “Ask it for a portal, while I reconnect us to the Mansion and the other residences. They must be wondering where we are.”

They weren’t—he knew Rory and Daniel had communicated already with Angel and the rest of the clan. But Cian needed something to do or he was going to stand there forever holding Fenric and they were both covered in blood and dirt.

Fenric

Fenric knelt and placed his hand on the floor, the cold stone smooth to the touch and thrumming with a subtle power that Fenric had no doubt was aware of him, watching and listening.

“Hi there,” Fenric said, coughing a bit into his fist from nerves. He was talking to an incredibly powerful magical…something or other. It was far more than a temple, it held infinite possibilities and was made of so much magic it was practically alive. “My name is Fenric, it’s lovely to meet you? Cian said to ask you for an archway.”

The energy spiked around him, pressure increasing in the air. He felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

It might actually be alive.

“I’d like an archway to my inn, please? It’s not far from here—quaint place called the Heron’s Nest. My room is 109.”

There was a moment where he felt silly for trying, and then with a soft groan of stone over stone, the floor in front of him began to eddy and shiver as if made of liquid.

Defying physics, the marble floor-turned-liquid rose from the ground and climbed over itself to create an archway of white stone. In seconds it went from liquid stone to solid shapes, white marble blocks shot through with black veins in a chaotic pattern, and within the arch was a blackness darker than the depths of Rageshi’s cave lair. The blackness shivered, a pool of ink disturbed by a breath of air—and then the darkness peeled away, and there was his room at the inn.

It was as he left it—bed unmade, covers strewn about, duffle bag still packed and ready to go. He never left his stuff out and unaccounted for—there were times he needed to leave a place, and quickly.

He carefully stood and wiped his sweaty palms off on his pants. “Thank you. I won’t be more than a couple minutes. I’ll be right back.”

There was that sensation again, of being watched, and he stepped through the portal and into the bedroom. He swept through the room, checking that he’d left nothing out, and lastly retrieved his wallet from his pocket and left a stack of cash on the nightstand for housekeeping. He grabbed his duffle and stepped back inside the archway to the temple.

“Thank you,” he said, and he stepped away as the arch began to flow back into itself and down into the floor, the view of his room disappearing with a dim glimmer of light.

“Well done,” Cian said from nearby as the arch disappeared and the floor was once again solid stone.

There were archways in the walls again, and Fenric spied the library at the Salvatore estate just as the human boy Leandro shouted in joy and bolted through the arch, running for Cian.

“Senór Cian! You came back!” Leandro shouted, slamming into Cian and hugging him hard.

“I said I would, did I not?” Cian replied, returning the hug. “We weren’t gone that long. Why are you still awake and not in bed?”

“The sun just set! That’s too early!” Leandro said, indignant as only a preteen could be.

“Time zones,” Fenric said to Cian in a loud whisper. “Middle of the night in Armenia, but not here.”

“Ahhh,” Cian said, making Leandro laugh at the exaggerated drawn out sound. “Of course.”

“Can we practice with my lich?” Leandro asked, making Fenric choke on air at the question.

“He has his own lich?” Fenric asked, incredulous.

“I do! Senór Cian helped me make it. He keeps it in a relic….no…a reliquary for me.” The boy stumbled a bit over the hard English word, but he got it in the end.

“That is amazing,” Fenric said. “Do his parents know? Never mind, it doesn’t matter, that’s too cool.”

Leandro glowed with adolescent pride, beaming. “I told my fathers. They were very impressed, though Da was a bit cranky. He showed his fangs to Senór Cian. Papá was proud of me for using my necromancy.”

Looking at the boy with all his senses, he saw that the child’s affinity was not yet in full bloom, but very close. It was coming to fruition slowly, which Fenric saw as a boon—it gave Leandro time to learn control of it in measured steps instead of contending with a full affinity all at once. He would be phenomenal once fully trained and grown.

“Not tonight, youngling,” Cian replied, the boy pouting adorably. “Fenric and I are covered in blood—we need to clean up and eat some supper. We can practice with your lich later.”

“Okay,” Leandro sighed, shoulders drooping.

“How is Eroch?” Cian asked quite seriously, not reacting to the tween’s sad puppy eyes.

“We had dinner and played hide and seek for hours . It was so much fun! Everyone who stayed got to play, and we won ! No one found us, and Eroch got the last tag in before we had to stop playing! It was the best .” The boy was animated once again, quickly over his disappointment, and Fenric was impressed. As far as he knew, Cian had no offspring of his own, yet he was an expert youngling wrangler.

Perhaps to someone as ageless and old as Cian, everyone was a child. He treated everyone the same.

“Leo?”

“In here, Papá!” Leandro shouted back over his shoulder to his father’s call.

Ignacio Salvatore entered the temple through the library arch, the big man’s shoulders barely clearing the sides. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, and had a shock of white hair at his temples, the rest of his hair pitch-black like his son’s. Leandro took after his biological father in coloring, but was slimmer and smaller of frame, like his many-times nephew, Angel.

“Good to see you’ve returned,” Ignacio said, nodding to them both. “Leo was concerned.”

“Papá!” the boy complained with a whine.

“Say goodnight to Senór Cian and his friend, it’s family time before bed.” Ignacio told his son kindly but with a firm expression.

“Goodnight, Senór Cian,” Leandro said with a heavy sigh. “Goodnight, Senór Cat.”

“Goodnight, tiny human,” Fenric said with a cheerful smile and wave.

“Goodnight, Leo. Many sweet dreams.” Cian ruffled the boy’s hair gently and nodded to his father. “Ignacio.”

“Cian.” Ignacio took his son’s hand and together they left the temple through the library arch, Leo waving over his shoulder before they disappeared from sight.

“Precocious kid,” Fenric said as Cian waved a hand and darkness fell in the library arch, blocking off sight from either side of the arch.

“He’ll be phenomenally powerful once he’s grown,” Cian stated casually. “If he weren’t a Salvatore, it would be worrisome.”

“Shower?” Fenric asked, wondering how plumbing worked in the underhill.

“Through that door,” Cian gestured, and Fenric turned to see a door in the wall of the temple that he knew was not there a moment ago. “A full bathroom.”

“What about you?” Fenric asked, hefting his duffle bag on his shoulder. He tried not to make it sound like an invitation, but it came out slightly coy.

“There’s more than one bathroom here,” Cian said with a small smile.

“Alright,” Fenric chuckled. “Point taken. Thank you.”

Cian

Cian showered while Fenric did the same, just in different bathrooms. He was tempted to join Fenric, to respond to that unspoken invitation, but he wasn’t there yet. He held little doubt he would be, though. Sometime soon. He was in no rush.

He was drying his hair in the temple proper when Rory entered the underhill, striding through the library arch with Daniel on his heels.

“You alright?” Daniel asked, though he had to know that they were both unharmed. Rory would not have kept knowledge of an injury from his husband.

“I am well, little brother,” Cian promised even as Daniel hurried to his side and checked him over from head to toe, grabbing his bare shoulders and moving him about. Thankfully he had on jeans, slung low on his hips, his feet were bare, and he was shirtless, not wanting to put on a shirt until his hair was drier. Wet clothing was annoying.

Daniel glared at him and promptly dropped his hands from Cian’s shoulders to his own hips, squaring off with him. “You left us in that damp cave with a crazy vamp and went hunting for enforcers! I know it was boring in the cave, but you didn’t need to put yourself in danger because of it!”

Fenric came walking out of the far door, dressed in clean clothing. He saw Cian in a state of undress and sent him a swift wink and a tiny smile of appreciation. Daniel saw him and spun to face the cat-sidhe.

“And you!” Daniel said accusingly, pointing at him.

“Me?” Fenric replied, eyes wide and innocent.

“You went along with Cian’s nonsense earlier! You both could’ve been hurt or killed!” Daniel glared at Fenric and Cian, hands back on his hips, stormy eyes swirling with worry and stress.

“I did not mean to worry you, little brother,” Cian replied, grabbing a shirt off the back of the armchair and shrugging it on. “We are in one piece.”

“You’re part of a family now, that means you need to be careful and consider your loved ones when making dangerous decisions,” Daniel scolded him. “People care about you.”

“I apologize, little brother,” Cian said as he adjusted the shirt on his shoulders, then he went to Daniel and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before drawing him into a tight hug. Daniel hugged him back just as tightly, pressing his face to Cian’s shoulder, tense with worry and anger. “I’ll be more considerate in the future.”

“You better be,” Daniel grumbled. Daniel hugged him for a long moment before pulling away, and Cian let him go. Daniel went to Rory and the two hugged, Rory giving Daniel a soft kiss on the lips.