Forever Broken

He didn’t dare tell his dreams to Paul and made sure to keep them private and hidden—something easier said than done. The blood bond was growing deeper and stronger every day, the gold and silver saplings strengthening into vigorous young trees that rooted deep in both his heart and Paul’s and bound them inextricably together. And yet Laurent knew their appearance of strength was misleading. The bond was still so fragile, so new. If Paul decided he didn’t want to be bound to another man, if he felt that he had to get rid of the bond before they went back to Miami… But Laurent couldn’t let himself think such a thing. He pushed the fear aside quickly every time it tried to claim him and concentrated on the love growing between them instead. And their love was growing, nourished by the bond and the way Paul was slowly but surely letting down his guard. He offered to let Laurent drink from him daily now—seeming to truly enjoy the process and the pleasure it brought them both. He didn’t even demand that Laurent bite him on the inner thigh where the marks would be invisible. In fact, he didn’t seem worried about the lasting evidence that he had a vampire lover—the necklace of fang marks that decorated the strong column of his neck—at all. Laurent wasn’t sure if that was because he intended to sever the bond between them—which would immediately erase the marks of possession—or because he intended for them to stay together on a long-term basis, away from the prying eyes of his pack. Or maybe Paul was simply choosing not to think about it, which seemed the most likely explanation. The were was extremely good at living in the moment—a skill Laurent wished he had. As hard as he tried not to worry, the end of their idyllic time together loomed large in his mind, filling him with worry and doubt if he let it.

But by and large he was wonderfully happy—they both were. Only two things made their “honeymoon” less than perfect for Laurent. The first was that, no matter how often they made love, Paul still refused to admit his orientation. He continued to insist that he was simply “experimenting” and though he was eager to top Laurent, he had absolutely no interest in being topped himself.

Though his lover’s continued denial of their true relationship made Laurent sad, he was willing to overlook it. He reminded himself that Paul had been raised in a rabidly homophobic society and besides, it wasn’t like he objected to being the bottom although sometimes it might have been nice to switch things up a bit. Still… small steps, he told himself over and over. Small steps. It may take years together before he’s willing to admit what he truly feels, what he truly wants…if we have years. But thinking that way was giving in to the fear and he quickly pushed it out of his mind.

The other thing that marred his time with Paul was the call he had to place to his mother. He did it their third day at Nana’s house, after catching the tail end of Paul’s own phone call home in which he seemed to be trying to reassure his stepmother of something. When he’d hung up the phone, Paul had seemed upset and subdued. But when Laurent tried to question him, he would only shake his head. Still, at least he’d been brave enough to make the call in the first place. Laurent had been putting off his own call home, dreading his mother’s cold disapproval and his father’s anger.

However, he knew he had to make some kind of contact with them if he wanted to remain in Asheville without being bothered. His father might tolerate an absence that lasted a night or two but for any longer, Laurent needed his mother on his side to smooth things over. And she wouldn’t do that unless he called and persuaded her to.

Sighing, he pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through his contacts until he came to her number. Then, with a rapidly beating heart, he hit send.

“Allo?” said a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

“Celeste?” Laurent asked.

“But of course, dear boy. Wherever are you? Your mother is beside herself with worry and your father is in a rage.” Leave it to Celeste to know his family’s business and to try to pry into his. “That is exactly why I am calling,” Laurent said, trying to control his irritation. “Could you put my mother on the phone, please?”

“Well we’re just in the middle of a bridge game. Two of your prospective consorts have gotten here early and they’re just lovely. It’s such a pity you weren’t here to greet them.”

Laurent remained silent and counted to ten. He reminded himself that it might have been much worse. His father might have been passing and decided to answer his mother’s cell phone instead of the busybody Celeste—an act that doubtless would have ended badly. Finally his mother’s friend seemed to take the point, or maybe she simply got tired of listening to him breathe.