&
nbsp; “You know,” Cristian said conversationally, “I thought we could talk to each other on this walk.”
Atlas huffed and kicked a pebble toward the river. It skittered off the low curb and back onto the sidewalk, where Cristian delicately stepped over it. He used it as an excuse to slow his pace, waiting for Atlas to catch up to him so they were walking side by side.
“Fine,” Atlas said. “Why does Nell call you Artie?”
“You know, that’s what I like about you, Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian said. “You go straight for the jugular, like us.” His smile was charming and wicked, and Atlas wanted to deny the comparison, but it was already too late. “Her son, Arthur, died a while back. Nell never could grasp it. When she started calling me Artie, I just went with it.” He brushed hair out of his eyes. “I know I shouldn’t, but the idea of her being alone for the rest of her life is—”
“Awful,” Atlas murmured. “Especially if she doesn’t understand what happened to him.”
“Exactly. Nell’s lived long enough, been through enough, she has a hard time keeping all her memories organized. It happens in older vampires, especially if nutrition hasn’t always been good.”
“Is that why you bring her and the others blood?”
Cristian scuffed his feet and frowned off into the shadows created by the two buildings they were passing. “My mother is the one who started the outreach. Doctors in other territories found a regimen of proper nutrition helped older vampires like Nell who suffered from memory loss or mental confusion. There was no guarantee, but Mother thought it was worth it, regardless. Even if their minds never fully heal, they’ll be satiated and less likely to wander away to hunt. It’s safer for everyone in our territory.”
Atlas shook his head. “I still don’t understand why you can’t tell your dad about this. You’re continuing her work.” When Cristian ducked his head and tried to pick up his pace, Atlas reached out and took gentle hold of his arm. He pulled him to a stop and waited for him to look up so he didn’t have to guess at his sincerity. “You deserve to be acknowledged for what you’ve done.”
“Maybe,” Cristian hedged, “but I can’t rub this in Father’s face.”
“Or get him to acknowledge it at all?”
“It’s complicated.” He gave a half-hearted tug against Atlas’s grip. They both knew he could have gotten free if he wanted.
“Why?”
“Because my mother died doing this,” Cristian ground out.
Atlas released him, shocked and bitterly angry at himself for forcing such a confession. Cristian didn’t seem to notice. He was busy looking toward the warehouse they’d walked away from.
“There were donor shortages for a few decades. Blood was hard to come by, and it had been over a month between Mother’s visits. She stopped to pick up blood from our contacts at the blood bank. They were behind schedule and she should have come home instead, gone out the next night, but she didn’t because she was worried about everyone here. She didn’t want anyone going hungry for another night. She dropped off what she could and was driving home when sunrise broke. She got back inside the house and we tried everything we could, but the burns spread...” He swallowed hard.
“Cristian,” Atlas whispered, his mind racing back to the warehouse where they’d found Mary’s ashes.
“No matter how many donors fed her, no matter what the doctors did, the damage was too great. She couldn’t heal from it. It took three days, Atlas, and there was nothing left of her but ashes.” His expression was earnest. “I don’t intend to go out like that, I swear it. I’m careful every time I come here. But if I say what I’ve been doing, if I come clean about it, Father wouldn’t be able to separate the risks I’m facing from the memory of her death. I can’t ask him to carry that worry. Ioana said he almost lost it when he thought I wouldn’t get back to the house that night at Rapture. If he loses me, he’ll have nothing left of her.”
He remembered Cristian’s arms around his waist on the motorcycle. The way he’d pressed against Atlas as if he could crawl inside him and take refuge against his spine. He remembered Cristian’s fearful hiss as they turned into the shaded lane of the property, narrowly avoiding the sunlight. Now, knowing how Angelica died, knowing what Cristian had feared as they waited outside Rapture, knowing how deeply Cristian had trusted him to get him home before he suffered a similar fate... Atlas could barely breathe through the tightness in his chest.
Fuck. This was more than simple physical attraction. He abandoned the sidewalk—and his place at Cristian’s side—to pace the ragged, empty yard in front of one of the nearby dilapidated buildings. He was used to self-denial, had spent a lifetime perfecting it. Refusing to take the toffee treats sitting in a pretty glass jar in his grandmother’s assisted living apartment so she’d have them for the bad days. Turning down offers to spend weekends at the beach with his high school friends because he and Bea both worked. And now, another abnegation. Cristian was someone he couldn’t have, no matter how much he longed for him.
“Atlas?” Cristian asked.
Habit made him turn back to the man to check he was still safe, and he must have looked miserable about it because Cristian sucked in a breath. A second later, his pupils dilated and he took another inhalation, this one slower and deeper.
“That’s what she meant,” he whispered. “All this time and I didn’t know that’s what it was—”
“What are you talking about?” Atlas protested. Nell’s odd interrogation came back, her insistence that she smelled something different about him when he looked at Cristian. Burned sugar and salt... Cristian scented the air again, as subtly as he could, and Atlas flushed, suddenly, horribly exposed. “Stop smelling me.”
“Sorry,” Cristian apologized immediately, though he swayed a little as he tried to get himself back under control. “But—”
“What?”
He took a deep breath. “Is that all it takes? Is telling you the truth all it takes to get you to look at me like that?” he asked, courageous in a way Atlas would never know. He took a cautious step forward, sliding so, so easily into Atlas’s space, and tilted his head up, his lips a breath away. Waiting. Giving Atlas the chance to move, to flee, or to surrender and close the distance between them.
“How am I looking at you?” Atlas asked, desperate to keep his head and not do something foolish.
“Like I’m finally worth the risk.” Cristian smiled, a tentative quirk of his lips. “You have an impressive poker face, you know. No matter what I did, I could never tell what you were actually thinking. The scents didn’t tell me anything either. But maybe I’ve just been reading you wrong this whole time...” He trailed off and lifted his hand, brushing the backs of his fingers lightly down Atlas’s temple, his cheek. He moved as though he feared Atlas would lash out against him, but Atlas couldn’t have stirred if he’d wanted to. And he didn’t.