Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Atlas shook his head. “Neither. Not tonight.” He couldn’t avoid the mirror any longer and caught Cristian’s gaze in it. “It’s your grief. Do what you need to. I’ll make sure you get home safely when you’re ready.”

Cristian’s eyes widened and he bit his lower lip before getting out a rough, “Drive, Mr. Kinkaid.”

Chapter Fourteen

Atlas obeyed. He felt Cristian’s gaze on him the entire drive back, just as he still felt the press of his hand on his bicep. That earlier touch lingered long after they parked in the employees’ lot—Cristian didn’t want to deal with the valet—and were let in the back door by an impatient Ioana. It remained when Atlas watched Cristian put on his fake exuberance to greet his friends in their private booth. It even remained after Dinu clapped Atlas on the shoulder when he and Cristian passed on their way to the bar.

The two men stood close together as they waited for their drinks. Cristian slouched against the bar and Dinu lounged near him. Their elbows brushed and they kept leaning in to each other as they tried to talk over the music. There was no

tension between them, no unspoken signs they wanted more space. It was a marvel to witness.

In his experience, touching wasn’t safe, unless it was a hug or kiss from Bea or his grandmother. Touch existed in silent, secret trysts that could get him discharged from the military, or medical emergencies focused on teammates he cared about. Touch had never come from a courageous need to comfort. But that’s why Cristian had laid a hand on him tonight, and Atlas ached for more.

The men were met with cheers when they returned with a ridiculous number of drinks. Cristian lifted his first from the tray and glanced at Atlas. “Are you sure, Mr. Kinkaid?” he called.

To an outsider, it looked like an offer of a drink. Atlas knew better.

“I’m sure, Mr. Slava,” Atlas replied. “I’ll be waiting over here when you’re done.”

Cristian relaxed at Atlas’s reassurance. He steadily nursed glass after glass as the night wore on, and refused all suggestions he feed. His friends slipped away from time to time, but he didn’t comment, seemingly content in his own company. Only Ioana, who abstained so she could drive the others home, guessed at the reality of the situation. She joined Atlas at the railing and offered him a glass of water.

“We’re going to need to go home soon,” she told him quietly. “Decebal’s only rule tonight is that Cristian gets back before sunrise.”

“Almost time to go then,” Atlas mused as he finished his drink.

Ioana nodded and looked over her shoulder at the others. “I’ll leave him to you?”

“Fine with me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kinkaid.” Ioana took Atlas’s empty glass and headed to the group.

She managed to get them corralled fairly quickly, though they had to wait for Andrei’s return from the bathroom. When he rejoined them, there were a few minutes of goodbyes and then Atlas and Cristian were alone.

He let Cristian finish off his drink before closing the distance between them. Cristian wasn’t very drunk for someone who’d been putting it away all night; Atlas wondered idly whether vampires could get drunk the same way humans could. Regardless, the lines of tension bracketing his lips had eased at last. He slouched comfortably in the booth and watched Atlas’s approach through heavy lids.

Atlas stopped a polite few inches away. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I expected,” Cristian lamented. His legs sprawled open a little wider as he shifted to inspect Atlas. Whatever he saw made him heave a deep sigh and reach for another glass. “I don’t want to leave yet.”

He stepped into Cristian’s space. The brush of his thigh against Cristian’s knee sent an illicit thrill up his spine, especially when Cristian took a sharp inhalation. It was easy to lean forward and pluck the drink away before Cristian could get in another sip. “I’d rather not risk breaking tradition. This is the latest we’ve been out.”

“Past your bedtime, Mr. Kinkaid?” Cristian asked, tilting his head up. The movement made his hair fall away from his forehead and stretched the line of his neck. Atlas wanted to trace the tendon there.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and set the drink down before offering his hand to Cristian. “Not at all, Mr. Slava. But we’re skirting a little too close to dawn.”

Cristian reached up and clasped Atlas’s hand, allowing him to haul him to his feet. “Well, we can’t have that. Lead on.”

The street behind the club was quiet and empty when they emerged from the building. Atlas kept Cristian at his back out of habit as he hit the remote and let the car’s lights illuminate the darkness. There were a handful of other vehicles parked farther away, all belonging to the employees on this last shift, but no one else was around. Atlas wondered if he could convince Cristian to park here more often and sneak in the back. He didn’t know if it was breaking some kind of protocol to let Cristian in through the employees’ area. He should ask Decebal about that the next time they spoke.

“Thank you for tonight,” Cristian said, opening the front passenger door. His mood must have improved if he didn’t want to be alone in the backseat anymore. “I needed it.”

“Sure,” Atlas said.

The moment he sat, he knew something was wrong. Cristian shifted in his seat, as if that would somehow make the car feel more balanced. He threw a confused look at Atlas. “It feels off to you too, doesn’t it?”

“Stay in here,” he told Cristian.

He turned on his phone’s flashlight and moved toward the rear axle. He swore when he spotted the flat tire. It wouldn’t take him long to change it, but it was still a pain in the ass. Thank God he’d pushed for them to leave a little early. He stepped around and called for Cristian to pop the trunk, but swore again when he saw the rear tire on the passenger side was also flat. What were the fucking odds on that?