Death's Ink Black Shadow (30 page)

“Rafi Hakim, the teacher from the school in Afghanistan with two of his ex-girls—now at Oxford studying to be doctors, thanks to you.”

Two men holding hands came toward them. Nikolas took a step back. John embraced him, then Mark. They rejoined their hands and began to rag Nikolas about his dislike of public displays of affection. Nikolas hadn’t seen these men since they’d attended an unusual gay therapy course together. Since he’d almost lost Ben—again. John spotted the tor and began to explain Dartmoor geology to Mark who only gave Ben and Nikolas an eye roll and dragged his partner off toward the alcohol.

Bemused, reeling, Nikolas saw children. “Who…?”

“Some of the boys from the orphanage in Moscow. Jackson got his old firm to arrange for them to fly over.”

“What—?”

“They’re all here for you. Because you’ve saved their lives,
made
their lives.”

“There’s Tim.”

Ben smirked. “Changed their lives anyway.”

Nikolas snorted when he saw a familiar figure emerge from the house. “Peyton Garic? Fuck me.”

“He was actually the most difficult to get here—and there’s someone who struggled all the way from the Philippines.”

“Really?”

Ben smirked. “No. Joke. And something is missing, too. The monitors have all gone, the cameras. You were right, but you were so wrong. We’ll keep the darkness at bay together. With this.” He flicked his gaze to the children running around chasing balloons, to the horses in the paddock, flicking their manes and tails to get noticed and join in the fun, to the adults chatting and standing in groups admiring the beauty of the place, enjoying the sunshine.

Nikolas was about to speak. He had no idea what he was going to say, but something caught his eye. Someone coming toward him.

He blinked.

Ben was observing him carefully.

Nikolas tried to still his expression but couldn’t. Molly Rose was
walking
toward him—wobbling. She’d have fallen except for the grip she had in Radulf’s fur. It was hard to tell who was escorting whom. When the odd pair, the blind and the tottering, reached them, Nikolas bent down and picked the baby up.

He gasped in pain and a familiar voice chastised, “You shouldn’t do that with a bad back. You should always bend your legs to lift things.”

Nikolas turned carefully to find a small inquisitor studying him.

Miles Toogood held open his arms for Molly and, bemused, Nikolas passed her over. “Bad backs can be very dangerous for someone your age. And Granny said it’s time. You’re both to come.”

“Time?”

Ben had his hand on Nikolas’s arm again, a firm grip. Nikolas was very sure that now it was wholly restraint. Ben murmured into Nikolas’s ear, “I wanted to do it in the chapel, but I didn’t think you’d be able to walk that far, so we’re doing it here on the lawns.”

Nikolas felt a cold chill wash over him.

His head swum, and without Ben’s hold he’d have staggered.

He knew what Ben meant, and it was so bad that everything that had happened in the last few weeks paled into insignificance.

This was worse even than killing his own son.

He closed his eyes. It didn’t help, but it allowed him to form the words in his mind to tell Ben—that, no, he wasn’t going to be part of a commitment ceremony in front of all these people. Things had changed, but they hadn’t changed
that
much. But saying so at such a time, with all these people here that Ben had gathered to witness this moment, would break everything apart again. Ben had swum for a shaft of sunlight and wanted him to join him. Nikolas was a creature born of darkness and didn’t have the courage.

He swallowed and opened his eyes, and once again the maddeningly intense green stare was fixed upon him. Then Ben rolled his eyes and smirked. “Moron.
Molly’s christening
. Officially Molly Rose
Rider-Mikkelsen
from today.”

Nikolas huffed and pursed his lips, easing away from Ben’s grasp. “I knew that.”

They formed a circle around Samuel Terry—who was now an ordained Baptist minister—the huge group of people Ben had gathered together in two weeks to celebrate his daughter’s life, and, privately, his life with Nikolas.

Only when the formal ceremony was over and they were all eating and drinking and enjoying watching the children play did Ben find Nikolas again and lead him to one side. “Are you up to a walk?”

“No.”

Ben made him go anyway.

They included Radulf. He was one of them.

It took Nikolas a great deal longer to reach the bog this time than it had before, but they made it eventually, and Ben eased him to sitting with his back against the tree stump.

It was hot, a rare Dartmoor autumn of golden grass and dark shadows from the tor.

They studied the mud together, picturing what lay beneath its deceptive, dry cracks.

Ben suddenly delved in his pocket and then flipped something over to Nikolas, which he caught in one hand. His left. His mind was slow, not his reflexes. Only when he opened his fist did he see what it was.

It wasn’t the ring he’d pictured for himself—something made of purest gold, with intricate, detailed engraving, something to match the quality and expense of his watch. He held it up. It looked like something hammered out from a—

“It was the bullet in your leg I dug out when we first came to the old house.”

“You kept it?”

“I did. Got a local metalworker to make it. Put it on.”

Nikolas did. It fit okay. No, it fit perfectly. He grinned at the anachronism of the rough tarnished copper and the gold of his watch and held up his spread fingers, admiring it. Then he caught Ben around the neck, pulling him close, kissing into his hair.

“Thank you.”

Ben nodded.

He knew exactly what he was being thanked for.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Nikolas was very grateful at the end of that long day to discover that Ben wasn’t as good at planning and organising as he was. Many people had nowhere to stay and had to find their own accommodation locally. No plans had been made for the evening, no entertainments laid on.

It was something of a relief to discover this inadequacy, despite no one else seeming to notice it or care.

Their house was easily large enough to host all their immediate family and he was dismayed to discover that without laid-on entertainment they’d found their own—Tim, the moron, and the children—Miles, Emilia and Molly—making use of his swimming pool. Which is what it was now apparently, not a swim lane. Not
his
swim lane. A pool with brightly coloured floating things and talk of a slide being fitted.

Nor did anyone need him supervising Molly in the water, despite her not being able to swim, as he had a smaller (and bigger) version of himself monitoring and ensuring that all was well. Miles did health and safety the same way he did food. With great concentration.

Nikolas was at something of a loss, until he wandered past the screaming, splashing fun and into their private rooms at the rear of the house.

Ben was waiting for him.

There was one place, seemingly, he was needed—always would be.

Ben took him into his arms like a very precious thing, which was a nice change from being slapped, punched, elbowed in the ribs, and mocked.

They stood, swaying together for a moment, then came into a kiss at exactly the same time, a deep, possessive joining of more than their mouths. Nikolas fanned his fingers out on Ben’s cheek as he kissed him so he could see the ring.

He held Ben off for a moment, staring deeply into Ben’s green eyes, trying to read what lay behind the familiar beauty. He thought he could. It was acceptance.

They had been a square peg and a round hole. They’d made the fit work by revelling in the gaps, the imperfections between them when they came together. But now, perhaps through a process of grinding, wearing away by events and situations beyond their control, they’d been formed into a perfect dovetail. Whether he’d become less angular or Ben more so Nikolas couldn’t say. It didn’t really matter.

Their fit together was so perfect now that their psyches matched the accord they’d always had in bed—smooth pistons in high-performance engines, bullets chambered in well-oiled guns.

Nikolas almost heard a clunk of coming home at last.

Ben smiled. “You’re so high.”

Nikolas snorted. “I am—on you.”

“I rest my case.” Ben eased Nikolas to the bed and began to remove his shoes—something he’d had to do for two weeks now. Nikolas wasn’t touching his toes for many more to come.

Nikolas rested his hand lightly on Ben’s head. It was a new place to admire his ring—against Ben’s hair. He envisaged many such experiments being necessary over the coming days. Weeks. Months. Years.

The suit jacket was removed next, then the trousers, which were more awkward and caused some considerable pain.

The tie and shirt he could have managed himself, but Ben liked this bit and Nikolas appreciated him enjoying it. You couldn’t beat hand-tailored shirts for their sensual removal qualities.

“You don’t mind them using the pool, do you? I said they could. They did ask first.”

Despite flying high on his favourite illegal substances, Nikolas had enough common sense left to avoid telling Ben the truth—yes, he did mind. He knew what kids did in swimming pools. And if they didn’t, the moron’s dangly bits were now dangling free in
his
water. He’d have shuddered if his back didn’t hurt so much. He foresaw having to have the whole pool drained and refilled. To deflect this too-knowing, too-astute Ben who was watching him far too closely he asked, “Who decided on the choice of godparents? A moron and someone who doesn’t speak English?”

“You would have chosen them, too, if I’d asked you. Protection and care.”

Nikolas’s brows rose a fraction. Squeezy and Ulyana Ivanovna. He’d never thought of them like that.

He cupped his hand around Ben’s neck. “Who are you, stranger?”

Ben quirked a smile. “The man who’s about to get into bed with you. I hope you begin to recognise me soon or it’ll start to be a bit embarrassing.”

“I don’t know. Anonymous sex is very exciting.”

Ben didn’t rise to this reference to Nikolas’s more exotic past as he normally did, he only eased the linen sheet back and replied, “I’ll keep my eyes closed then and try it.”

“Ack, you’d know it was me.”

“Your dick is that memorable?”

“You seem to find it hard to forget.”

Ben chuckled. “I might start letting you take your little coloured pills more often. I think you’re actually flirting. No, don’t try to turn. Lie on your back.”

Nikolas repressed a wince and lay as ordered.

Ben sat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I’m going to make sure no one has drowned, then I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be asleep. Don’t wake me.”

Ben made to get up but then bent down and just rested his forehead against Nikolas’s for a moment. “Okay?”

Nikolas nodded against the closeness of flesh.

He could say a lot with his gestures. He knew Ben heard every single word.

§ § §

Nikolas was asleep when Ben returned.

Ben stood watching him for a while before he undressed.

Then he eased in alongside and debated waking him.

Even flat on his back and in pain, Nikolas Mikkelsen was quite willing and able to have some fun, even if Ben had to do all the work.

But he didn’t.

He let Nikolas sleep.

Even asleep, Ben was now more in tune with Nikolas than he had been for all these past months with him very much awake.

Only now could Ben appreciate the way Nikolas had spread himself across their lives, trying desperately to hold it all together—a man trying to prevent an earthquake with the strength of his fingers and the unrelenting force of his resolve. It had nearly torn him apart. Literally.

Ben had thought he’d cracked Nikolas open, brought him out of his shell and into the light when he’d chained him to the bed and forced him to tell his secrets. All he’d actually done was remove his armour during a lull in the fighting. Unarmed, Nikolas had faced the danger while Ben partied, thinking the war was over.

Their war would never be over.

Well, he’d suited up himself and gone out as Nikolas Mikkelsen’s knight in shining armour—no, nothing much had shined or been noble in that bedroom in London with Anatoly Aronofsky.

Ben didn’t need to tell Nikolas, because he saw the knowledge in the amber eyes sometimes, that what he’d done to that old man had been more about a helpless little ten-year-old boy than it had been about finding out the truth. But as Nikolas always maintained, that concept was highly overrated. Revenge, however,
payback
—that was very sweet indeed.

He slid closer to the sleeping figure—Nik was always silent, always contained, even like this. Nikolas’s skin was very warm for it was a hot night. It was hard to believe November was only a few weeks away, Christmas soon on its heels.

Ben would have liked Kate to be at her daughter’s christening and had suffered her absence like a hunger he couldn’t assuage. It surprised him. It wasn’t sexual, wasn’t even just missing her as a friend. He missed her as Molly’s mother—what her death took from his daughter. Kate had loved him. She’d known and respected Nikolas for years. What she’d done, her betrayal, must have been driven by desperation, a longing for a baby perhaps as strong as the need he bore for Nikolas. There was
nothing
he wouldn’t do for Nikolas Mikkelsen. Who were they to judge her? Maybe that strength, Kate’s love for her baby, would defeat even death. He hoped that Molly would always have that strong spirit beside her, fighting for her still, as Kate had, in her own way, fought for Molly’s life then. Maybe as a young woman, struggling to understand her place in the world, his daughter would one day find a solitary white feather upon her pillow and know that her birth, her
life
, had been wanted with a fierce passion. Ben hoped so. The only thing that lessened the pain was knowing that Nikolas thought all this too. He hadn’t said so, of course. He hadn’t changed that much. But Ben had sensed a new appreciation of Kate when Samuel had confirmed Molly’s last name—Rider-Mikkelsen—a remembrance that Kate was bringing Molly home to them, in a way, when she’d been killed. She must have seen a chance for reconciliation between them, and so, Ben knew, had Nikolas.