Rare Vigilance (Whitethorn Agency)

Decebal looked like he wanted to add something else, but Helias managed to divert the conversation by telling Atlas, “Once I make these changes, I’ll be sure to give you the updated schedule.”

“Thank you,” Atlas said, awkwardly aware of the rising tension in the room. He felt like he’d stepped into an old argument, one he didn’t want to listen in on. More importantly, one he didn’t want to be used in, especially if Decebal saw fit to use him against Cristian. “Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No,” Cristian told him. “Father and I have further business to discuss. I’ll find you later.”

It was an obvious out and he took it unhesitatingly. He abandoned the study and wandered back downstairs to wait. The rest of Cristian’s group was in the billiards room. To pass the time, he attempted to unseat Vasilica from her champion’s throne. She wiped the floor with him twice before he gave up and handed the cue back to Ioana.

He watched Vasilica and Ioana’s battle royale for a bit before he caught the tap of footsteps coming down the stairs. Cristian entered the room just as he turned to the door, and Atlas wished he could risk reaching out to him.

The last part of the meeting with Decebal had clearly put Cristian through the wringer. Exhaustion tugged down the corners of his mouth, despite his weary smile to the group. He rubbed the back of his neck, a move Atlas knew well because he did it too when his headaches flared up.

“How’d it go?” Andrei asked, voicing the question Atlas couldn’t.

“I’ll be stuck here while he travels,” Cristian warned. “There’ll be individual meetings with every clinic. The hospital board wants me to attend the presentation on the proposed lab and storage expansion. And don’t get me started on the new inventory programs Helias and I have to learn.” He shook his head. “All work, and no play.”

“For how long?” Dinu asked.

“The next couple of weeks,” Cristian said with a grimace. “Once Father’s back, things should return closer to normal.”

“Damn it. Rapture just got featured on one of the travel blogs,” Dinu whined as he nudged Andrei aside so he could dig around in the small fridge behind the wet bar. “I was hoping you could do a private tour to promote it more. I even had a script so you could sneak in references to some of our other properties.”

“Tell Helias your plans,” Cristian said, eyeing the chairs near the bookcases. “He’s handling my schedule for the foreseeable future.”

Vasilica gave a dark chuckle, though Atlas couldn’t tell if it was for Cristian’s news or the perfect shot she’d just landed. “You’re letting him create your schedule? How’s that going?”

“Letting is a strong word. And it’s going as well as you expect. He’s color coding it,” Cristian lamented.

“Profligate son to dutiful heir in less than a night,” Dinu laughed. “I’ll remind him to not forget to schedule in feeding too. I swear, the man feeds less than Ioana. He needs to remember not all of us can pull that off.”

Ioana rolled her eyes and flipped him off. Dinu made a kissing sound in reply and pulled a blood bag from the fridge. Andrei grunted and tilted his head toward Atlas. It took Dinu a second to understand what he meant, but once he did, he gave Atlas a worried look. “This okay?” he asked.

Atlas thought about it for a second and shrugged. “It’s not mine, so have at it.”

“Anyone else want some?” Dinu asked. Everyone waved him off, so he poured the contents into two glasses. He sipped from one and handed the other off to Vasilica, who accepted it with murmured thanks as she plotted her next move. Cristian sank down in one of the chairs that left him an easy view of the game, while Andrei worked on his own drink.

“Mr. Kinkaid,” Cristian called, crooking a finger at him. He was a sight, legs slightly splayed, head tilted so he watched Atlas’s approach through his dark eyelashes, and wicked, lazy smile in place. He waited for Atlas to draw up beside his chair to ask, “What are your thoughts on my visiting Rapture for Dinu’s little campaign?”

He didn’t have thoughts on Rapture. No, that was a lie. He had thoughts, but none of them made sense. He wanted Cristian to enjoy himself. Decebal had tightened security at the club, so it was one of the safer places for them to go. He’d gone several days without any signs of an impending migraine, so he wasn’t worried about the music or lighting setting one off. But he didn’t like the jealousy sliding in at the edges of his mind as he thought of Cristian wandering off with another donor. He had no intention of feeding Cristian again, so he had no claim to such an emotion. It sat there nevertheless, an irritating burr he kept brushing against as he reasoned with himself and tried to find a good response.

“Let me know when Helias schedules it in and I’ll get us there,” he said at last.

Behind him, Dinu and Vasilica sent up whoops of triumph. Cristian didn’t. He gave Atlas a slow once-over and said, “I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?”

“I want you to enjoy yourself too.”

Maybe it was the way Cristian stared at his mouth. Maybe it was the earlier sexual frustration taking the words out of context. It could have been one of a hundred things, but Atlas’s desire flared back to life. Cristian sucked in a breath. His pupils dilated and his fingers dug into his denim-clad knee. Atlas shifted, suddenly remembering Nell noticing the change in his scent and praying no one else in the room had deciphered its meaning. His discomfort snapped Cristian out of whatever distraction he’d lost himself to because he lifted a hand and flicked his fingers toward the door, dismissing Atlas from his presence.

“Move, Mr. Kinkaid,” he said, voice rough and rasping around Atlas’s title. “Let me watch Ioana finish this.”

He moved back to his earlier place by the door, relieved that no one seemed to have found his and Cristian’s interlude unusual, and settled in to finish out the last hour of his shift.

It passed uneventfully. As dawn neared, he made his goodbyes and headed for his car. He was almost home before he remembered his nearly empty fridge. Eating dinner with everyone else while he was on shift had become so common he rarely needed to make major shopping trips anymore, but he was down to the dregs of his last half-hearted trip. If he wanted to eat anything other than the last splash of spoiled creamer or the leftover seasoning packet from a box of wild rice he’d purchased on a whim, he’d need to stop somewhere.

He pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a store near his neighborhood. The lights overhead created a patchwork of darkness and illuminated asphalt he stuck to on his way inside. It was still early enough that the aisles were a maze of boxes and pallets while workers restocked shelves. Only a handful of other customers wandered about, most of them older. No on

e made eye contact, all preferring to slip quietly past each other like ghosts. It was calm and still smelled of cleaners and mopped floors. He snagged a basket and began wandering.