Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

At Atlas’s nod, he carefully popped the top two buttons, trailing his finger down Atlas’s throat until it settled in the dip of his collarbone. He tapped his finger there once, twice, and smiled. “Much better. Now, come on.”

Atlas eventually got his breathing back under control, though it took longer than he was willing to admit. Cristian led him to the garage and one of the town cars. They got settled in the front seats and headed out. Cristian entered an address into the GPS, then fiddled with the radio as they drove, eventually settling on a classical music station, of all things. Music to think by, Atlas’s grandmother used to say about it. She loved testing him and Bea on the composers, though he’d never taken to it quite like his sister had.

“Now, that’s a smile I haven’t seen before,” Cristian murmured. When Atlas gave him a look, he added, “I would have remembered seeing one like that.”

He didn’t know how to respond. Cristian pressed at times, but his teasing was often easy to dismiss thanks to his changes of subject or follow-up jokes. This was so genuine, so soft, Atlas couldn’t just push it away and pretend like the words hadn’t been said aloud.

“Whatever could have brought such an expression to my stoic bodyguard’s face?” Cristian asked. A smile threatened and his voice was light with barely concealed laughter. Joy looked good on him.

“Shut up,” Atlas grumbled. “My grandma liked this kind of music. Good memories, that’s all.”

“Who was her favorite? Beethoven? Mozart?”

“Jansons, actually. Barbirolli was a close second.”

Cristian threw his head back and laughed, a brilliant sound that danced around the enclosed space of the car. “Oh, my God, I think I may love her. What was she like?”

Maybe it was the strings drifting around them as they drove. Maybe it was a desire to prove Cristian wasn’t wrong to trust him wholly, that he was capable of sharing pieces of his life too. Or, maybe it had just been long enough since he’d talked to anyone else about his grandmother. No matter the reason, Atlas said, “Brilliant. Hard working. When she took me and Bea in, she used to tell us stories about all the people she met at the talent agency she worked at. We’d be sitting down for lunch, minding our own business, and she’d launch into a story and drop all these names and then make us go wash the dishes without answering any of our questions about them. She was one of the smartest, strongest people I’ve ever known. And she loved music.” He gave a laugh half-choked by a swell of emotion. “God, she loved music. All kinds. She made me take piano lessons.”

Cristian leaned closer, eyes bright, testing the limits of his seatbelt. “You play?”

“Not very well. I wish I’d paid more attention.”

“I’ll teach you again,” Cristian offered. “Mother made me learn. Made me work with some other instruments as well, but piano was something we could do together.”

“Everyone seems to have loved her,” Atlas said.

Cristian hummed in agreement. “She was wonderful, but an absolute terror. Father didn’t stand a chance.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Atlas said as he put on the blinker and got in the correct lane. They were headed downtown to meet the realtor, but Cristian’s first stop was in one of the plazas before the industrial section.

“They eloped,” Cristian said. “My grandparents were visiting an ally in... I guess it’s Romania now. My father was the territory’s lieutenant and was tasked with protecting the visitors. He and Mother fell in love. One night, Mother told my grandparents she was going out for a ride and taking Father for protection. They crossed out of the territory and were blood bound by one of the other Council members before her parents’ men could catch up. That’s why the Wharrams hate my father so much. They said Mother humiliated the family by marrying little more than a mercenary captain. They returned to England without her, but kept sending people to try to bring her back. She eventually got sick of them meddling in our lives and moved us all here to the American colonies.”

“How old are you?” Atlas asked, astonished and failing miserably in his attempts to juggle history and figure out their destination.

“Old enough,” came Cristian’s flippant response. But his nerves were there underneath the remark. Atlas could tell in the way he fiddled with the collar of his jacket. “I’ll have you know I look good for my age, Mr. Kinkaid.”

“Obviously,” Atlas muttered. Judging by Cristian’s flush, he hadn’t expected such a compliment. “So are you actually immortal or what?”

“Close to it. I’ve got enough years ahead of me for it to feel like immortality.”

Cristian sounded oddly apathetic about it, which Atlas didn’t understand. Hell, wasn’t life everlasting the driving force behind the human race? It led the charge of religion, science, medicine, war... Surely vampires recognized the gift they had.

“Do you regret that?” Atlas asked as he made the last turn into a parking lot in front of a discount store. He was confused, until he spotted the food truck parked at the end of the lot. “You wanted to get food now?”

“Consider it a survival celebration,” Cristian said. “They were open extra late tonight for one of the local games.”

“And they serve...waffles?”

“Don’t judge before you’ve tasted,” Cristian chided him.

They must have made it before the game let out, since there was no line yet. He lingered on his approach anyway. The Christmas lights hanging from the truck’s awning were inviting, but the wafting scents of bacon, warm maple syrup, and waffle batter cooking away were the true siren’s call. Cristian moseyed alongside him, hands stuffed in his pockets. The menu was large and easy to read, with punny names for unusual combinations, and reasonable prices.

At the counter, Cristian ordered something called the Sunny Side Sandwich, which boasted two bacon waffles spread with whipped maple butter and filled with a fried duck egg. He also ordered a coffee, which Atlas knew would be drowned in so much cream and sugar, it would count as a dessert. The young woman taking the orders smiled at Atlas when he stepped up. “And what can I get you?”

He glanced over the menu again. “Umm...is the This Little Piggy any good?”

“One of the favorites,” she assured him.