Page 25 of Transfiguration
You should come to my loft,Hart replied.
Luca set down the phone and stepped under the spray as he heard Sam in the bedroom. Sam would leave the barrier of the lock in place, even if he could have broken it, but it would worry him. Luca was worried. His heart felt sluggish, and he worried at his lip as he washed. Now was the worst time for any of this. They had a kid to take care of. Crazy things were happening with vampires, witches, and the entire world. And Luca knew that vampires rarely stayed together after a change.
He swallowed hard, tears coming for the first time he could remember in decades. They’d all been worried about Con, aging and his eventual death, even though he probably had at least a half century left, even if it was more human than a witch. They never talked about Luca’s transition, inevitable as it was, and how it would change everything. Luca had never feared it before, but now he wondered how much of himself would be left when he woke up on the other side.
ELEVEN
Luca dressed quietly as Sam curled himself around Con while the sun was rising. He blinked tired eyes, the sun pulling at him. “Sleep,” Luca said, leaning over to give him a kiss, careful not to wake Con.
“Come to bed,” Sam slurred.
“I will. I just need to talk to my dad.” Not Hart, but Luca’s dad. If the sun hadn’t been yanking him off to sleep, Sam would have noticed the distinction, but his eyes closed, the strength the sun had over him meaning he’d have to schedule a trip to ground soon, a terrible time for Luca’s life to erupt in chaos.
Luca stared at them a minute, his heart racing a little as he marveled at their beauty together. He’d had lovers before, some he even thought he loved, but not like this. Their years together had woven something between them that Luca couldn’t define with words. Not that words meant much to him, or them. Rather, the decade plus of little things had built a temple around what they were. Would it shatter and crumble with his change?
He quietly made his way downstairs, listening for movement from Bella, but hearing none. When he stepped out, he thought again they should have wards like Rou did. Hell, Rou had a fae army monitoring the boundaries of his lands. Harder to do when they had a castle in the sky. He sent a text message to Rou, asking about wards, and headed down to the garage.
The police were gone; so was Blake and the SUV. But Luca hadn’t called for a driver. Luca went to their locked garage stall and wheeled out his motorbike, a practical Honda. A small thing in teal blue that American men would laugh at, as it wasn’t the “crotch rocket” of most of their choice, but Luca enjoyed the way it handled and he wasn’t going far.
Luca pulled on his helmet and made his way out, headed for Hart’s loft. He could have walked, the early morning streets still mostly clear, but he needed the vibration of the motor and the wind in his face to clear his head. He wove around downtown, making his way through the guarded gate of the billion-dollar high rise, and handing his keys over to the valet before making his way up.
Anxiety filled his gut, churning like he couldn’t ever recall, and he was ready to snap at anyone who got close, but not a single soul passed within hearing. No one used the elevator or walked the halls, and when Luca arrived at his father’s door, it was unlocked. He clenched his jaw and went inside, uncertain of what he expected to find. Maybe a handful of his father’s many lovers? But the space was empty except for the man himself.
Luca’s limbs felt like lead weights as he made his way to where his father sat on the couch, arms slung across the back, one foot resting on the opposite knee, casual in posture, eyes half-lidded. Was he purposely making himself appear vulnerable? Luca swallowed hard, stopping to stand frozen a few feet away.
“I’m not ready,” Luca said, his heart sluggish and aching. Tears stung his eyes. He hadn’t even discussed anything with Sam or Con. Would they be mad?
“Are we ever ready for change?” Max asked.
“Is this what I think it is?”
Max gave an absent shrug, not moving much, offering no threat. Did he know how close to the edge Luca was? He’d never felt this way before. Anger, yes, a need to fight, always, but… that growing trickle of red was what? Madness? The rise of his revenant? The loss of his humanity, perhaps?
“Is there any way to stop it?” Luca wondered.
“You can try taking my blood. You’ve had nothing but Sam’s for over a decade. Maybe you need something stronger?”
Stronger than Sam? It was hard to fathom anyone stronger than Sam, but in vampire terms, he was still little more than a baby. “Okay.”
“Sit.” Max instructed, the command taking root in Luca’s gut, and he complied, dropping into the opposite chair. His bones and joints suddenly felt filled with glass, aching, sharp, and he gasped.
Max cut his wrist and dripped blood over a cup. Luca had existed that way for decades, feeding only on his father. Was that why he’d had a long mortal life? He hadn’t aged in the years with Sam and Con, but he’d never felt this strange floating disengagement with himself either.
He didn’t see Max move, but he pressed the cup into Luca’s hands. “Drink,” Max instructed.
Luca raised the cup, everything screaming in pain, and the liquid that touched his lips and tongue wasn’t pleasant at all, thick and oily, with an undercoat of slime and layer of metallic aftertaste. He gulped it fast, hoping for relief, or a few hours of added time. It felt terrible going down, and he sucked in air, trembling for a while. Tears running unfettered from his eyes, making it hard to see. But Max sat on the coffee table in front of him now, watching carefully, expression blank.
“Sorry,” Luca whispered.
“For?” Max asked.
“Disappointing you?” Needing help? Changing? Luca didn’t know. Only that he was sorry.
“You have never disappointed me, Luca.”
Those words were oddly soothing. “I thought you didn’t like my men?”
“If I didn’t like them, they wouldn’t be yours,” Max stated.