Page 13

Chapter 13

Heart to Heart

Cian

T here was little that surprised Cian, his long years full of experiences and people that left their mark on him throughout the ages.

Though waking up with a large black cat on his chest, practically nose to nose, did startle him a bit.

Fenric cracked one green eye open to give him a glare before closing it again, settling down into a comfortable loafing position square in the middle of Cian’s chest. Fenric was purring, a soft rumble he felt throughout his body, and the cat-sidhe was warm and soft. Cian blinked away the last vestiges of sleep and mentally asked the underhill what time it was—midmorning.

He ran a hand down Fenric’s soft back, petting him in long strokes, and the purr increased in volume. A long black tail unfurled and began to thump in happiness, and Fenric yawned wide, revealing a huge mouth full of pristine white fangs.

“Good morning,” Cian murmured, continuing to pet Fenric in long, gentle strokes from the top of his head to the base of his tail.

“Good morning,” Fenric replied, voice a rich purr. “You may stop when the sun dies.”

Cian chuckled. “My arm may fall off before that happens.”

“You have two arms.”

Cian burst out laughing at the sheer sass, jostling Fenric from his perch. Fenric stretched and slinked off of his chest to the bed. “Breakfast?”

Cian sat up and stretched as well. He felt rejuvenated and relaxed—he rarely slept, just slept, with another person that wasn’t Rory, yet Fenric being in bed with him hadn’t bothered him in the slightest during the night.

Cian reached out mentally to Rory, who thankfully was awake and not occupied with his new husband. Breakfast?

Come to the kitchen—Ashwin is making breakfast for Leo. He says two more isn’t an issue, Rory replied with gentle humor. And good morning, brother.

He sent a wordless thank you to his brother and smiled at Fenric. “We’re invited to breakfast in the Mansion.”

Fenric

Fenric decided that attending breakfast as a man might be the best option—show his face around more, let the occupants get to know him instead of the cat version. He found himself surprised at the urge to let the Salvatore clan get to know him. He wondered where it came from—maybe Cian and Rory were rubbing off on him, in a non-sexy way of course.

The kitchen was huge. It boasted a twelve-burner range top, multiple ovens, a huge refrigerator and freezer combo, and more than one type of dishwasher. Fenric wasn’t poor—but he was compared to the wealth of the Salvatore clan. Angel Salvatore had money .

The windows were treated with a fancy bit of magic that, to Fenric’s surprise, filtered the sunlight, keeping out the radiant magics and UV rays that were harmful to the sentient undead—the blinds and curtains were pulled up and away, sunlight flooding the spacious kitchen, and the vampires stood out in stark relief.

Simeon’s hair was like rubies in the sun, and rich, glittering emerald eyes complemented the deep auburn. He was pale as death, skin porcelain white, lips a lush pink, though there was a healthy flush to his cheeks that spoke of a recent feeding. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, with a lean waist and trim form, and he moved like a warrior, all efficient movement and grace.

Constantine was much the same as Simeon, though his hair was a bright blond hue that gleamed like golden wheat ready to be harvested, eyes a clear, icy blue, with high cheekbones and a lush mouth. He was a devastatingly handsome man, broad and muscular much like Simeon, and Fenric knew from watching him move that Constans had also been a warrior in his mortal life. That economy of movement was hard to hide and impossible to shake, even centuries later.

The vampire Remigius was also present, his fae mate tucked under his arm and both men were sitting at a breakfast nook on a deep bench seat, cuddling as the younger mate ate from a plate piled with food.

Celyn Walsh was younger fae, one of the types of myriad fae peoples that evolved into existence concurrently with humans, and were more like humans than the Elder fae peoples. His specific ancestry was hard to parse—like most younger fae, his bloodline was dotted with humans, and that did interesting things to the resulting fae children and their magics.

Remigius, or Remi, was a quintessential example of the sentient undead. Black hair so dark it appeared blue in the light, a snow-white pallor, lips as red as blood, and dark eyes that caught the light and flashed red as he turned his head, speaking in low tones to his mate. He was as old as Constantine but he was less the warrior and more the marathon runner—long, lean lines and a manner that spoke of many years of diplomacy and a practiced, keen insight.

Fenric followed Cian to the island and hopped up on a seat beside him on one of the bar stools. Cian took a seat beside young Leo, who was eating a mouthful of food and merely waved a hello as they sat.

Ashwin Metcalfe was also a vampire, and he was the most human-appearing of them all—he moved with the same efficient motion as Simeon, but there was more grace and less danger. He glided across the kitchen between the range and the island with an enviable ease, and Fenric found himself charmed by the vampire’s easy manner and bright smiles. Rich brown hair with honey undertones, the chiseled good looks to grace a silver screen, dark eyes dancing with good humor and a wry smile on a sharp mouth completed the picture. He appeared to be the youngest of the vampires at the time of his Turning, but he was about the same age as Simeon for sure, from what Fenric knew from his own senses and research.

“Cian, Fenric! Good morning. What can I make you?” Ashwin asked cheerfully. He topped off his son’s orange juice with a smile.

“Whatever you’re making everyone else,” Fenric replied. “I’m not picky.”

“Same, and thank you,” Cian said.

“Pancakes and bacon?” Ashwin asked.

“Sure.” Fenric said with a smile. “Thanks.”

The kitchen smelled fabulous.

Cian

Watching Fenric eat pancakes was an exercise in frustration. The happy sounds Fenric made as he ate stole Cian’s attention and he kept getting distracted, leaving his own food to grow cold, sneaking glances at Fenric the whole time.

Cian forced himself to eat his food and in an effort to keep from staring at Fenric so obviously, he reached out mentally for Rory, glad to find that his twin was not equally distracted by his new husband.

Will this fascination ever ease up? Or am I doomed to stare at Fenric like an infatuated fool the rest of my life?

Rory replied rather quickly, amusement lacing his mental voice, his beloved and familiar mind bracing Cian as he endured a swirling of emotions at the prospect of always being this entranced and enchanted by everything Fenric did. Always. I could stare at Daniel for the rest of my existence—I won’t, because it would bother him. Though Fenric and Daniel are very different. He might like it. Ask him.

Not something I want to ask in a crowded room full of nosy immortals.

Rory was deeply amused and sent Cian a brush of love and support along with a hint of laughter. Brother dear, ask him when you’re alone next. In fact, ask him everything and anything. Get to know him. You’ve been apart for over two hundred years—he thought we were dead. He’s had several lifetimes of adventures and tragedies since you parted.

Rory was right, and he sensed Cian’s unspoken agreement and a light laugh teased his mind as Rory gently withdrew and Cian was forced to behave properly while he ate. Behaving was so difficult sometimes.

“All done?” Leo asked him. Cian blinked himself back into focus and noticed that he had managed to eat everything on his plate.

“I suppose I am,” Cian replied, and handed the plate and silverware to the waiting Leo, who was helping his human father, Ignacio, clean up the kitchen while Ashwin sipped some blood from a crystal goblet nearby, the vampire leaning against the counter. “Thank you.”

“ Está todo bien, senor ,” Leo chirped, hustling around the island to pass the plate and fork to his other father, who rinsed them at the sink before putting the items in the dishwasher.

He had no idea when Ashwin swapped kitchen duties with Ignacio, or when the practitioner even entered the room.

He finally gave in and found himself again looking at a pair of stunning green eyes. Bright and clear, those peridot eyes were impossible to look away from. Not that he wanted to.

There was that sweet smile again, too. Soft lips curving into a wicked half smile that spoke of naughtiness and temptation, and Cian was helpless to look away.

“Are they speaking with telepathy?” Celyn whispered to Remi.

“Perhaps?” Remi replied reluctantly, though he too whispered.

“What is telepathy?” Leo asked loudly. Apparently the whispers weren’t that quiet.

It was Leo’s voice that pulled him from his staring. He flushed a bit, for once shocked at himself, and he glanced at Leo, who was watching him with a suspicious squint. “I was thinking, youngling. And telepathy is communicating silently by shared thoughts between people. There’s nothing wrong.”

“I’d say,” Ashwin murmured into his glass of blood with a smirk. “Those are some hard thoughts.”

Cian briefly debated the merits of a fistfight in the kitchen but decided not to traumatize the child by beating up his father. Cian realized with a shock that his emotions were all over the place. “Excuse me, please.”

He left the island and passed by Leo and Ashwin, slipping out the kitchen door into the garden at a fast walk. He heard his name called from behind him but didn’t stop—he went for the heart of the gardens, all but running down the central path to the great oak tree that stood opposite the large fountain in the very center of the estate gardens.

The numerous boughs were as thick around as an adult’s waist, and the tree was as tall as the Mansion itself, the branches thick with leaves. Grass and moss grew under the boughs despite the lack of sun under the canopy—Rory’s influence. It must be a frequent trysting spot for Rory and Daniel, judging by the magical residues left scattered about the natural grotto.

Cian went to the great tree and pressed his hands and then his forehead to the hard, smooth bark. The tree thrummed with life, roots connected throughout the gardens, anchoring the tree against the privations of time, gravity, and weather. It was as old as the Mansion, though under Rory’s tender care and influence, it was far larger than even that venerable age should have it, and Rory’s magic kept the tree from toppling and breaking under its own weight.

Thinking about Rory brought him to the forefront of their connection.

Brother? Rory asked tentatively.

Emotions are so, so….bothersome. Cian tried not to sound like he was whining but he failed.

A gentle chuckle and Rory sent him a soft, wordless wave of patience and love.

A few moments of silence, and then he felt his brother approach.

“Emotions are always bothersome for you,” Rory said as he joined him leaning against the tree. Cian rolled his head to the side to stare at his twin.

“When you slept, I had none. Or only a vestige of what they once were,” Cian sighed. “I remembered what emotions felt like, but loss and grief were paramount as your slumber overwhelmed me. They consumed me, until even the memory of pain was lost to the numbness. Madness crept in as the memories of emotions faded into nothing.”

Rory nodded, his hair flowing freely over one shoulder. For once he wore more modern clothing, a simple white t-shirt over light-blue jeans, though he wore his magic boots.

“I look at him and I am lost,” Cian said on a rough exhale, turning to press his back to the tree, shoulder to shoulder with Rory.

Rory was quiet for a moment, thinking, and a steady stream of comforting love came through their bond. “You’ve never said that about another person before.”

Cian nodded. “I know.”

“The teasing in the kitchen bothered you.” A statement, a fact.

“Yes.”

“Such things have never bothered you before.”

“Am I still mad? Was I damaged by all those long years apart?” Cian asked, despite knowing deep in his gut the truth of the matter.

“I think, brother dear, that falling in love is a type of madness,” Rory offered quietly. “It changes us on such a fundamental level that the creation of such an emotion feels like madness. We are static, ever unchanging in many ways, eternal in habit and personality, so when love comes for us…it’s a seismic event at our very cores. For all that we see endless change in the world around us, we are largely unchanged ourselves. Yet love…deep, powerful love, it can change a person at their very core. It can be scary.”

“Your love for Daniel did not give you fits. You fell into loving him as naturally as breathing,” Cian said, trying not to complain. He was too old to whine. But then, this was his other half, literally—if he could not bare his half of their shared soul to Rory, then he might as well be dead.

“You know as well as I do that I am the fount of emotions of our shared soul. Falling in love with Daniel was indeed as easy as breathing, and as essential. Despite our shared soul, we are still distinct enough as individuals that something as huge and encompassing as love would happen differently to each of us.”

“You and your wisdom,” Cian grouched. He knew Rory was right.

Rory chuckled. “ Our wisdom, brother.” He paused for a moment. “You have a chance for love, Cian. Will you take it?” His amber eyes were full of compassion and hope. Rory wanted Cian to have a love like he did.

“Fenric and I danced around each other before you fell,” Cian said. “In my darkness, I cut myself off from everything familiar, single-minded in my quest to resurrect you. I cut myself off from Fenric. Seeing him again feels like the last few centuries were nothing but a nightmare, every glance I get of him brings the relief of waking from a bad dream, safe and whole. Is that love?”

Rory lifted his arm and pulled Cian into a hug, Cian returning it, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder and holding on tight.

“It sounds like love to me,” Rory whispered. “But it’s for you to recognize it.”

Fenric

Fenric waited outside the oak tree grotto, not wanting to intrude. Cian had been upset when he left the kitchen, and Fenric wasn’t sure what prompted his flight.

He worried Cian ran from him.

He sat on a nearby bench next to the fountain, hands clasped in his lap, deliberately not listening with his enhanced senses to the conversation happening under the oak tree’s expansive boughs.

He sensed the necromancer long before he saw him.

Angel Salvatore sat next to him on the bench and Fenric moved over a bit to give them both some room.

“Good morning,” Angel said, as casually as if they were meeting at a public park in the city.

“Good morning,” Fenric said, side-eyeing Angel as he kept most of his attention on the tree and the two sidhe hidden from view. While he was not eavesdropping, he was tempted.

He and Angel were of a similar size, though the necromancer was a couple inches taller than Fenric. He sniffed quietly at this discovery. He usually didn’t mind his height—he was small in most of his forms, and that was fine. He was no less dangerous for it, and he gathered that the necromancer was much the same, considering how he held himself like a king.

“I heard a rumor that Cian was upset,” Angel stated calmly, smiling at a bee buzzing drunkenly around a cluster of bright summer flowers around the fountain.

“Ah,” Fenric breathed out as realization hit. Why Angel was there, talking to him. “And Cian being upset is a problem.”

“He is a convicted serial killer,” Angel said as if he were reciting Cian’s finer qualities, lightly, without any judgment. “His capacity for violence is…extreme.”

“Odd to hear from you, necromancer,” Fenric replied just as easily. “You are the most dangerous being on the continent.”

Angel quirked a brow at him, but let the criticism slide. “His equilibrium is disturbed. I know he was not in his right mind at the end and that’s why he killed, but he is also one of the most chill people I know, even when indulging in chaos. His calm has been disturbed, and that’s a Cian I’ve not experienced yet. Should I be worried?”

Angel turned to him with that question, meeting his gaze head on.

“Cian is fine. He has Rory. He needs patience and understanding, and he’ll be right as rain in no time.” Fenric declared, certain down to his bones that there was nothing for Angel to worry about in regards to Cian’s emotional and mental state. Cian was whole again, and with Rory’s resurrection, the mentally broken killer was no more. Cian was essentially himself again. The serial killer had been the aberration.

“He and Rory are just past the boughs in the grotto,” Fenric gestured toward the great oak. “Ask him yourself.”

Angel smiled, closer to a grimace, but it matched the single shoulder shrug. “I just might do that,” Angel replied, surprising Fenric. “But I think this is a matter closer to your purview than mine. I am nominally his keeper, and this is a matter of the heart. I’m not here to police his relationships, unless there’s a threat to my family.”

Heart in his throat, Fenric swallowed thickly. “I am no threat to your family, and neither is Cian.”

“I hope not,” Angel said. He looked around the garden, smiling again, taking in the blooming flower beds and the lush bushes and trees. “The garden was never this alive with growth, even under my mother’s care, and she was an earth mage. I look at my family home now and no longer see a ravaged landscape, but one of peace and love. I’d like it to stay that way.”

Fenric had nothing to say in response, but he nodded to show he heard Angel loud and clear.

“Have a lovely day,” Angel said and stood, heading back up the path to the house.

“You too,” Fenric managed to croak out before Angel disappeared from sight.