“Who are you?” the man asked, drawing back nervously from the empty glasses and open bottle of vodka on a small table. At least he was fully clothed. “He said no one would bother us—”
“What’s wrong?”
His chest tightened at the sound of Cristian’s slurred voice. He turned to find the man sitting haphazardly on a couch in the corner of the room. Cristian blinked; his glassy eyes tried to track the cause of the interruption and finally landed on Atlas. He sucked in a breath. “Atlas...you’re here?”
Everything screamed at him to go to Cristian, but he needed to secure the room first. His doppelganger hadn’t tried to run out the door or grab for any sort of defensive weapon, so Atlas kept an eye on him and yelled to the hall, “Ioana, you there?”
She joined him, eyeing the other man with open distrust. “Vasilica and Dinu are with Andrei.”
“Check him,” Atlas ordered, pointing at the donor.
“Andrei already—”
“Again.”
Her lips compressed to a hard line, but she nodded and moved to obey.
“Atlas,” Cristian whispered, “it is you, isn’t it?”
“Of course,” Atlas said, crossing the room to kneel beside him. “You said you preferred my company.”
Behind them, Ioana explained something to the nervous man. Dinu’s voice rose and fell from the hall. Atlas didn’t mind the added noise. At least he’d have a very loud, obnoxious warning if Andrei decided to go anywhere.
“I do,” Cristian admitted, reaching out a hand to him.
He reached back, stealing a moment to check for Cristian’s pulse. It fluttered against the delicate skin of his wrist, offbeat and strange, and the pain in his chest twisted and grew. Something was wrong and it was his fault. He hadn’t been here.
“We need to go,” Atlas told him, adjusting his grip so he could track the erratic way Cristian’s pulse rose and fell. Cristian made a confused noise at the contact and tried to tug his arm away. Atlas hushed him, but it didn’t help. Cristian eventually pulled free and stared down at his lap, avoiding Atlas’s gaze. “You’re angry with me,” he whispered.
“I’m not.”
“You are.” Cristian swung his head up to glare at him. “I can smell it.”
Damn it, something was definitely wrong for Cristian to be talking like this so openly. He tried to keep his voice even, soothing, as he said, “I’m not ang—”
Cristian reached out and stabbed a finger into Atlas’s chest, sending him rocking back on his heels. “Don’t lie,” Cristian said. “You’re the only one who doesn’t lie to me. Don’t start n—” He blanched and gripped Atlas’s shoulder. “Don’t feel good,” he mumbled.
Atlas dug into his pocket for his phone and dialed the doctor. A familiar woman answered, “Doctor Dosou speaking.”
Atlas didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “This is Atlas Kinkaid. Mr. Slava and I are at Rapture. He’s got an erratic pulse, is pale, and says he doesn’t feel well. Where do I need to take him?”
“Can you get him back to the house?” the doctor asked.
“Yes.”
“Was he feeling well earlier?”
“Hold on.” Atlas glanced over his shoulder, where Ioana had finished checking the man, and jerked his head for her to join him. “I’m putting Ioana on. She was with him earlier.”
He handed over the phone, listening halfway as she answered the doctor’s questions, and focused on Cristian. “Are you going to be sick?” he asked.
“No. Head’s light...and tired.”
“I’m getting you out of here. I need you to lean on Ioana for a second, okay?”
Cristian managed a weak nod. Atlas stood and positioned Ioana near Cristian, so he could grab her if he needed, and stalked toward the terrified man on the other side of the room.
“She said I was clean!” he protested when Atlas grabbed hold of the front of his shirt. Closer, Atlas could see the minute shifts of the man’s eyes, the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. It reminded him of the kid from the earlier accident. All nerves for no reason if something wasn’t wrong...