Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

“The human will betray you,” Andrei said, a final, desperate attempt to sway Cristian back to his side.

?

?He might,” Cristian agreed. He moved, the same efficient twist of the head he’d used to incapacitate their attacker at Hahn Lake, and released Andrei’s body to Dinu and Ioana’s hold. “But you already have.”

Chapter Nineteen

Atlas couldn’t move, even when Cristian stumbled. Ioana and Dinu dragged Andrei’s body out the door, past Vasilica and the whimpering donor from Rapture. Decebal gave Helias an order to follow and finish the job. His steady command left Atlas trembling and he couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t the unconscious one. He wasn’t injured, other than the glancing blow to his ribs. They ached, but didn’t spark with the pain broken ribs would have caused. He was fine.

It took Doctor Dosou physically shaking him to pull him out of his stupor. “Atlas,” she kept saying as her hands flitted over him, “are you with me? Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“No,” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

She did one final sweep before deciding he wasn’t in any immediate danger. She ordered him to retrieve blood bags for Cristian, who needed to feed to help him fight against the juniper’s negative effects. Grateful for the task, he grabbed some out of the bar fridge in the billiards room and hurried back across the hall.

They’d resituated Cristian in one of the antique chairs along the wall. A picture was pulled down and a saline bag hung in its place. An IV line was already started in Cristian’s arm. Decebal stood at his son’s side, supporting his weight, while the doctor worked on preparing a syringe of clear liquid. Cristian forced himself to look up when Atlas returned to the room, blood bags in hand, and gave him a weary smile. He was still too pale, and his efforts against Andrei had left a new sheen of sweat over his forehead.

“You should probably go home,” he said when Atlas handed the blood over. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.”

“Don’t care,” he replied, and crouched in front of him.

He was all too aware of Decebal standing inches away, watching their conversation with interest. Cristian’s punishment for Andrei’s betrayal was meted out with Decebal’s approval and Atlas had no doubt Decebal would kill him if he knew Andrei’s accusation had been accurate. Cristian’s trust alone had stayed his execution, and he would risk execution to repay such a gift.

“Do you want me to go home?” he asked.

“No,” Cristian admitted, gripping the bags tighter. He laughed weakly. “Honestly, I’m scared if you walk out now, you’ll never come back.”

“Mr. Vladislavic,” Atlas said quietly, without looking in his direction, “would it be too much of an imposition if I borrowed a spare room today?”

Cristian’s eyes widened. Atlas took one of the blood bags from him and looked around the various medical tools spread out on the nearby sofa table. The doctor tilted her head toward a pair of scissors, which Atlas picked up and used to trim off a corner of the bag. He handed it back to Cristian, clasped Cristian’s trembling hands around it, and helped steady it as he lifted it to his mouth.

Decebal waited for Cristian to begin drinking to ruffle his hair in a surprisingly affectionate gesture. He pulled away soon after, leaving Atlas to watch his son. “I’ll have one prepared for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Atlas said. “I’ll do whatever you need to earn my place here.”

Atlas didn’t expect the light pressure of Decebal’s hand pressing against his back. The man cleared his throat. “You have earned your place a thousand times over. Stay as long as you wish. You’re family now, Atlas.”

He nodded, throat tight, and listened to Decebal leave the room. He watched Doctor Dosou inject her syringe into the saline bag. After a minute, Cristian stopped. He tilted his head back and winced. “It’s cold,” he complained.

“I know,” the doctor said. “But give it a few minutes and it’ll start to feel better. We caught the juniper early, so I don’t think you’ll be down for too long.”

“What did you give him?” Atlas asked.

“A drug cocktail to support his body’s response to the poison,” she replied, starting to clean up her kit. “The next twenty-four hours are critical. If he starts puking or complaining about kidney pain, get me immediately.” She pointed at the blood bags and gave them both a stern look. “At least one bag every two hours, understand?”

Cristian made a face, but Atlas nodded. “I’ll make sure of it,” he promised.

“I’ll be back in a bit to take out the line. In the meantime, stay.”

Mollified, she left, saying something about arranging for a fresh delivery. Atlas hoped she meant more blood, but didn’t ask for clarification, too distracted by the muscles working in Cristian’s neck as he did his best to finish off the bag.

“Feeling any better?” he asked when Cristian finally came up for air. He took the empty bag from him and set it on the table. It was probably stupid, but he rubbed his hands over Cristian’s arms, trying to warm him.

Cristian hummed and leaned back in the chair, his eyes drifting closed. “Still tired. But better.”

“Rest. The doc will be back soon.”

Half an hour later, the doctor returned. She put Cristian back to rights quickly and let Atlas help him up. Once she was positive he wouldn’t keel over, she handed over another blood bag, reminded Atlas what to watch for, and left them.