Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Please, he thought, closing his eyes and leaning into the next hesitant touch, don’t stop.

“Atlas,” Cristian chastised gently, thumb caressing Atlas’s jaw, “Why do you want to hold back?”

“I haven’t earned this.” He dared to crack open his eyes, wishing he was brave enough to admit the truth. God, if he told Cristian what he’d done, who he was really working for, this would end. Selfishly, he hedged with, “I’m supposed to take care of you.”

Cristian’s smirk was positively filthy. “I promise, I am not opposed to you doing exactly that,” he said, though his fingers were still impossibly, sweetly gentle on Atlas’s skin. “Anything else?”

“And it’s a conflict of interest.” God, Bea would skin him alive for even considering breaking her cardinal rule.

“Well, hiring and hiding our vampiric nature from a man whose life was ruined in an attack isn’t exactly best practice either. I don’t think this is a typical job.” His blue gaze turned suddenly serious. “You’re right though. This is a job

. Your job, and your choice. If you want to stop, we will. I’ll never bring it up again. Though I’d prefer you not quit, as you really are the best damn agent we’ve ever worked with and it would be an absolute cock up trying to replace you—”

He wanted to laugh, or maybe to curse, at the absurdity of Cristian’s rant. But there was so little space between them and his focus was elsewhere. He may have been good at self-denial, but he wasn’t a fucking saint. He reached up and caught hold around Cristian’s wrist, stilling his movements.

“Mr. Slava, stop talking,” Atlas commanded, tilting his face down until the words brushed against Cristian’s mouth. He shut his mouth so quickly Atlas heard his teeth click together. “Do you remember what I said that first night?”

A flash of understanding crossed Cristian’s face. Atlas felt his damnation breathing at the back of his neck, waiting for the right moment to lunge. But, God, if he was going to fall, he’d do it on his own terms.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. Cristian trembled in his grip, so he slid his thumb over the pulse point of his wrist, soothing as best he could. “Do you understand?”

“Atlas,” Cristian breathed.

He stole the rest of it from Cristian’s lips and when the man sighed and opened for him, he took everything offered. There was no room for remorse here, in this still, sweet place where slightly chapped lips pressed to his, where their tongues tangled as they stepped closer and closer, until they were pressed against each other, so close they seemed to breathe together. He nipped at Cristian’s lower lip, earning a growl of want for his teasing. He’d given up his hold on Cristian’s arm and reveled in his desperate attempts to cling closer still, to touch every part of Atlas possible.

He lost himself to the kisses, mind blissfully blank. Cristian’s fingers were threaded through his hair, angling his face down, and there was a slight pressure against his lower lip, then a pinch—

Atlas jerked back at the same moment Cristian swore. He carefully probed at his lip with his tongue, tasting the faintest trace of blood, and tried to relax through the adrenaline spike.

“Sorry,” Cristian said.

Atlas could just make out the tips of fangs as he spoke, enough to need a moment to breathe, to remind himself who he was with. Apparently, that was too long, because Cristian stepped back, putting space between them. Shit, he could probably smell the flash of fear Atlas had fought down. Hopefully he’d also smell how that fear was gone now.

Cristian’s lips were full, wet and shining in the moonlight. Atlas flicked his gaze higher, tracking the way he dragged a hand through his tousled hair, trying to set it to rights. “Are you okay? I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” Atlas assured him. “I’m fine.”

His pulse slowed and the haze of need faded. Every moment he didn’t have the distraction of Cristian’s body under his hands made it easier to pull back.

The lopsided smile Cristian offered him couldn’t distract from the apology and regret in his eyes. “We should make sure nothing else has passed through the area,” he said.

“We should,” Atlas agreed. He let Cristian walk away first, taking the moment’s respite to adjust his clothes and try to clear his mind from the want still coursing through him, a current he couldn’t fight free of.

Their search was an exercise in futility. There were old tracks, scuffed and scraped about by vampires or humans or animals who had explored the area after. They found some claw marks gouged into the masonry of one of the warehouses, but an exploration amidst the piles of industrial junk inside revealed no nest, no signs of feeding, nothing except a patrol of the area. He should have been relieved to find such limited signs of the strigoi’s presence. But controlled behavior didn’t fit his memories of the Romanian attack, and ended up putting him further on edge.

Cristian, of course, noticed on their way back to the car. “There’s no point worrying over it now,” Cristian said. “All we can do is keep checking in.”

“That’s not enough,” Atlas argued, all his frustration over their broken kiss, the strigoi, and his battling between guilt and desire, sparking under his skin. “They’re at risk—”

“Far less than us,” Cristian said calmly. “You saw the prints, just like I did. It wandered through and out when it didn’t find any easy prey. Nell and the others are safe inside that building. We are the fools walking around outside.”

“Goddamn it,” Atlas grumbled. He dug in his pocket for the keys and unlocked the car so he could swing open the rear door. “Get in.”

Cristian hesitated, then sighed, then slid into the backseat. He waited for Atlas to take the driver’s seat and start the car before saying, “You should try to use please. Don’t think I’ll start obeying all your orders, Mr. Kinkaid.”

“Why’d you obey that one?”

“Because I’m fond of you,” Cristian said drily. “And because anyone with half a brain can see you’re spiraling. I can’t decide if it’s because of the strigoi, or because of us.”