Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“No. I’ve got some time before Mr. Slava finishes his meeting with his father.”

“Well, if you don’t have anything to do, want to grab us some beers from downstairs?” Vasilica asked. Her nose was practically pressed against the screen, and Atlas prayed she won, for the sake of whoever was bidding against her.

“Sure,” he agreed.

It didn’t take him long to find the beer in the kitchen. He took a couple of bottles in hand and closed the fridge before turning toward the door, where he found a glowering Andrei blocking his path.

“Yes?” he asked, trying to shift the bottles around so he was at a one-handed disadvantage instead of two. He didn’t think Andrei would hurt him, but something about the man set Atlas’s teeth on edge. He did not like appearing unprepared or unable to defend himself when they were alone together.

Andrei noticed his slight adjustment and the furrows of his brow deepened. “Cristian is behaving differently. I am concerned.”

There were too many ways to take the comment, so he stuck with neutral acknowledgment. “I see.”

“Has Cristian spoken to you about visiting Rapture again?”

“He hasn’t brought it up tonight.” Atlas noted Andrei’s growing frown. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes. He does not enjoy feeding as he once did. That is your fault. He tasted your blood and now you are the only donor he has any interest in.”

“That’s not true,” Atlas argued. “He feeds regularly at Rapture.”

“Yet he stretches out the time between visits as far as he can stand before he returns. He does not feed deeply. He risks his health with this self-denial and you are too foolish to see the consequences of it. Cristian pines for you now, and you are within his reach every day. Have you discussed what will happen when your contract ends?” Andrei asked.

He hadn’t thought of that. There had never been talk of him leaving the position after that discussion with Decebal and Cristian. He’d simply...returned to work every shift, never contemplating an end date. That had never happened to him before on any job. Andrei’s question seemed innocent, until Atlas noticed his triumphant smile.

“Think about it, Mr. Kinkaid,” Andrei said, as if he’d read his mind. “No matter how loyal you are, or how well you do your job, Decebal will not sacrifice Cristian’s health for you. He will not risk Cristian bonding to you, only for you to walk away when the job is over or when money runs out. If he suspects impropriety, your position here will end.”

“There’s been no impropriety,” Atlas managed at last.

“A relief,” Andrei blatantly lied. “And easier to believe if Cristian returns to his normal feeding habits. Don’t you agree?”

Andrei didn’t wait for a response. He walked out of the kitchen, leaving Atlas alone with a jumble of new doubts and fears of Decebal’s vengeance. There wasn’t time to wallow though. He couldn’t risk anyone suspecting his mental turmoil.

He dug around in the drawer to find a bottle opener, and hissed when he stabbed his finger on the pointed tip of the opener’s corkscrew. It was the final straw. He swore, threw the bottle opener on the counter, and grabbed hold of the marble counter, hating how his fingertip throbbed.

“You were trained

to handle all kinds of deadly weapons, but you can’t manage a bottle opener?” Cristian stood in the doorway, his shoulder resting against the doorjamb. “Dinu said you were down here. Are you bleeding?”

“Maybe? I was distracted,” Atlas admitted.

Cristian made a soft sound of understanding and came to stand beside him. He eyed Atlas’s death grip on the counter and though his voice remained light, his expression shifted to something a bit warier. “Was may be a little optimistic. What happened?”

“Nothing.” He started to push off the counter, but Cristian reached out and placed a hand over his. Atlas swallowed when Cristian’s fingertips traced over the pale lines cut into his knuckles. There was tenderness in the touch, but no pity. He couldn’t have handled it.

“I can always tell when you overthink,” Cristian mused. “You chew on the inside of your lip.”

The observation startled a laugh from Atlas. When Cristian gave him a curious look, he explained, “Rojas used to say the same thing.”

“Rojas?”

“One of the guys in my platoon. We were responsible for a lot of the planning. We spent tons of time together, going over intel and other data, and even more time organizing it. He used to get pissed whenever I started biting my lip.”

“Why’s that?”

“Said I only did it when I was about to give him bad news.”

Cristian tugged gently at his hand, urging him to lift it. He obeyed, though he was confused until he realized Cristian was inspecting the dot of blood on his fingertip.