Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Cristian kissed the same way he fought. Impatient and strong and stubborn. He devoured Atlas’s mouth, making hungry noises when their tongues tangled and barely taking time to breathe. He had to eventually and Atlas stole the moment and pressed his lips to the corners of Cristian’s mouth, followed the line of his jaw. He cataloged every sigh and whimper Cristian made when his lips trailed down sensitive skin. He ached from the sounds he drew when he grew bold enough to press his teeth to the corded muscle on the uninjured side of Cristian’s neck.

“Atlas,” Cristian whispered, arching into the sting of Atlas’s teeth dragging against his collarbone. His gasp of pleasure transformed to one of pain when he tried to chase Atlas’s mouth and pulled on his injured shoulder instead.

Atlas tapped lightly over Cristian’s heart, drawing his attention. “Feed from me,” he offered again. “Let me take care of you.”

Golden eyes watched in awe as Atlas slid out of his hoodie and lifted his arm up within easy reach of Cristian’s mouth. The fear he’d felt at Hahn Lake wasn’t with him in this moment, burned away by his devotion to Cristian.

His determination made Cristian waver. He closed his eyes and nuzzled against Atlas’s bare wrist. The delicate pressure of a kiss pressed over his pulse, and Cristian’s tenderness made Atlas’s knees wobble.

“Are you sure?” Cristian mumbled into his skin.

“Yes,” he breathed, and closed his eyes when Cristian gripped his hip tightly. “It’ll be different this time. I trust you.”

Cristian moaned at that, undone by Atlas’s faith. His lips parted and his warm exhalation tickled Atlas’s skin. His thumb rubbed at Atlas’s hip, and when Atlas relaxed into that sweet touch, Cristian struck.

Fangs slid into his flesh, but it was a dim sensation compared to the fireworks exploding in his head and the steady pull of Cristian’s mouth against his skin as he fed. This time when the pressure built behind his eyes, he didn’t let the wave wash over him. Instead, he leaned into it and pushed back. It fell away and he dove after it, following it down, down—

The room was decorated with beautiful garlands and lights. Candles sat on the mantel and a fire crackled merrily in the grate. It was beautiful, but still couldn’t compare to the dark-haired woman dancing in front of him. Her face lit up with joy as Decebal led her about the room, spinning now and then out of time with the music for no reason but to hear her laugh. And that laugh... It danced up to the heavens, reminding everyone in hearing distance that this is what living was. Decebal swung them to a stop and she smiled and reached out a hand.

“We can’t have such a sweet gentleman being a wallflower,” she teased.

A pang in his chest, and something bittersweet, like lemonade with too little sugar, filled his senses.

“Sorry,” Cristian said from a long ways off. “Sometimes we find sore spots.”

“Did you find mine?” Atlas asked, dazed from being pulled so abruptly from the memory of... Angelica, it had to be Angelica.

“No,” Cristian assured him. “You haven’t let me in, I promise.”

He shook his head, trying to dislodge the clinging images of the Vladislavic room that lingered like a phantom over his vision. “Who was that woman?”

“My mother,” Cristian said. He ducked his head, flushing, and added quietly, “I wanted you to know her too.”

Atlas kissed him hard, wishing he could find words to thank Cristian for taking that risk. For trusting him enough to share such a precious memory.

When he drew away and traced his fingers over the edges of the bandage, Cristian assured him, “It’s healing.”

“Can I see?” Atlas asked.

Cristian gave him an amused look, but didn’t complain when he worked the bandage free to check. The horrific injury was nearly healed. It was still raw and angry, but the bleeding had stopped and the skin was growing back, like frost spreading over a pane of glass.

“Feeding did this?” Atlas asked, amazed.

“Yes.”

“Then finish taking what you need.”

“I don’t need more—”

“Maybe not,” Atlas interrupted, “but I’m offering. If you want it.”

Cristian’s smile was shy, only the tips of his fangs glinted in the light, and he slid his tongue over the bite. Atlas shivered when it dragged over the edges of the punctures, catching just enough for him to feel the imprint of Cristian’s fangs in his skin, before Cristian bit again.

He was lost, spun about by the overwhelming crest of memories Cristian offered. There, that one—

The moon shone overhead, turning the lake silver, like a puddle of mercury splashed across the field. An owl called from the forest behind him and everything was so good and still and peaceful. He could breathe out here for the first time in months—

Atlas gasped when he surfaced. The familiar, hideous pattern of his shower curtain solidified in his vision, though he could still feel the prickle of grass beneath his feet and the way the night air caressed his face.