Deep Deliverance: The Deep Series, Book 3 (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Five

The conference table was shiny, shiny. A vast expanse of mahogany with an exquisite mirror finish. The chairs…Adin hardly felt the pain of his healing body cradled as it was in the plumply upholstered chairs. Donte was there. And Boaz. Santos and Sean. Ellen Wentzler faced Tuan at the opposite end of the table. She was the uptight yin to his super cool yang. Everyone there might as well have been a stranger.

When you don’t recognize yourself anymore, everyone is a stranger.

“All right, then.” Ellen Wentzler tapped a large stack of papers into a fiercely neat eight-and-a-half by eleven-inch pile. Over and over again, she tapped it, until it bent to her will. Adin was pretty sure that was his fate too.

“On the matter of Barrett Harwiche.” She glanced at him over her half-moon glasses. “How are we proceeding?”

Everyone looked toward the other end of the table, where Tuan had a similar stack of papers. He was picking each one up with two fingers and reading from it as needed. Turning them over into a pile Adin thought might be deliberately messy, just to provoke Wentzler. Tuan appeared relaxed and handsome. Maybe even a little defiant. A shifter at a vampire council meeting might feel like a balloon in a roomful of straight pins, but you would never know it by looking at Tuan.

“We’re dealing with the situation,” he said. “Barrett has identified the boys who took Adin. They have in turn given us the information we needed to find the facility where they’ve been trafficking the rogues. The owner maintains no one has ever paid anyone to bring subjects for testing. They say they use volunteers exclusively, and everyone signs a release. We’re looking into the individuals who work there. We’ll find whoever’s behind this.”

Adin glanced toward the window. Night had fallen over the city. It looked like a glittering treasure had been thrown from the sky by space pirates. Moving cars winked and blinked along in clusters of clogged traffic and on free-flowing freeways, heightening the effect.

“What will be done with the boys?” Wentzler asked.

“They’re being dealt with.”

“I should hope so.” She set the papers down and pinched the edges together some more. “What about the Harwiche boy?”

“He’ll be charged with assault and possession.”

Adin heard the words as if they came from a radio, playing softly a thousand miles away. He couldn’t make himself interact with these people. These entities. He couldn’t make himself argue that Barrett was a stupid boy with a stupid crush, and he didn’t want the boy’s life destroyed any more than he’d wanted to be a test subject or to be tased or to end Sahar’s life. It seemed inconceivable that he’d started those dominoes falling, one by one, and this was the outcome.

“Adin?” Wentzler was apparently talking to him. How long had she been waiting?

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked if you wanted to add anything.”

Adin shook his head. No. He didn’t have anything to say. Not anymore. He’d always said more than he needed.

He’d always listened far less than he should.

As it often did, his fat
her’s image came to him. Keene Tredeger. Engineer. College professor. Lover of all things nautical. He saw Keene Tredeger’s face reflected in the dark window next to his, a ghostly presence with the city skyline as the backdrop. It didn’t surprise Adin. Nothing surprised him anymore.

He wished he could ask his father for advice. For guidance. He wished he’d had him longer. Loved him more. Well. He couldn’t have loved him more…maybe if he’d loved him more
consciously
. He wished he’d said it more often. Maybe if he’d been grateful for every minute he’d had with his dad, the loss wouldn’t hurt so much now.

“Adin.” Wentzler’s impatience colored her tone. “Are we keeping you from something?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I asked if you were able to complete the forms we gave you yesterday?”

“Boaz has those.”

Boaz slid a thick manila envelope across the slick surface of the table. “It’s all there.”

Adin would have turned back to the window and the very comforting imaginary presence of his father, if Wentzler hadn’t addressed her next words to him.

“An accidental kill is a terrible turning point in the life of any newly made individual, Adin. Regrettably, they happen. The important thing to remember is that for every accident, there are a hundred, a thousand prevented by the very protocol you sought to avoid. Everything the council does, it does with the goal of prevention.”

Adin listened numbly, saying nothing.

“My point is not to judge you, Adin, or to say I told you so. Involuntary manslaughter is not considered a crime in the Kind community. Sahar’s death was a tragic accident.”

Absurdly Adin thought, “Is this where they praise Caesar
and
bury him?”

“We’re all on your side. We’ve taken steps to contact Sahar’s family. Being an adjunct member of the community, she signed a formal waiver, but it’s politic to remunerate her family in some way for the loss. Donte, I trust you’ll handle that?”

“Of course.” Donte’s hand lay on the table. Relaxed. Elegant. He could have been talking about anything. The price of pork bellies. A new television series.

Of course I’ll remunerate the family of the woman my lover killed.
Adin felt Boaz’s eyes on him. Hard. Cold.

How does it feel to clean up another of my messes? I’ll bet you’re sorry now you didn’t let me die.

I’m sorry too.

“As for the facility in question, we’ll be conducting our own investigation. If they’ve been involved in rogue trafficking for the purposes of experimentation, there will be hell to pay.”

Adin didn’t doubt it. He hoped Ellen Wentzler would invite him to take a flamethrower to the place.

“If that’s all?” Santos asked politely. He and Sean were there to provide what little information they could about the event. Privately, Adin thought Wentzler just liked ordering them around.

“That’s all
for now
.” She turned to Adin and handed him a plastic card with what looked like a standard EMV chip in it. “Your token. Carry this with you at all times, Dr. Tredeger. Despite the rather Bohemian attitude you have toward protocol, you’ll find our help can be useful. Had you had this on you last night, none of this would be necessary, would it?”

She picked up the manila envelope with his confession in it, and left the room, along with Santos and Sean.

Donte, Boaz, and Adin remained in a silence, thick with bitterness.

Adin’s chest was so tight his torso didn’t seem to fit him anymore.

A warm hand fell gently onto his shoulder. Adin glanced up to see whose it was, and found no one there. He shot a quick look at the window, but his was the only face he saw. Maybe his father’s ghost really had been there. Weirder things had happened.

“Ready to go?” Donte asked.

Adin blinked. Nodded. He rose to his feet and brushed imaginary dust off his sleeves.

Donte’s hand went to the small of Adin’s back. The touch would have been reassuring—should have been—but Adin’s back was still slightly blistered and the area heated painfully. He flinched away, earning a look of pure sorrow from Donte.

“Did I hurt you? Forgive me. I forgot for a moment that you still had pain.”

“It isn’t too bad.” Adin followed Donte and Boaz to a bank of elevators. Boaz had taken his room and he and Donte had moved to a suite of rooms on the club lounge level.

“Come upstairs, and let us take care of you for a bit.”

Boaz snorted at that. Adin got the message: they’d been taking care of him all along.

Adin’s first instinct was to protest that he didn’t need to be taken care of, but obviously, he did. And he’d have to accept that fact for the rest of his life. When the elevator doors opened, he followed Donte and Boaz inside.

“Now I know you must hurt,” Donte teased. “You didn’t even argue with me about autonomy or control or trust.”

Adin wasn’t in the mood to argue about anything, but he felt he owed it to Donte to respond. Donte’d been so goddamn kind to him since he’d woken up with Sahar’s lifeless body. The horror of that would have been unimaginable if Donte hadn’t been there to talk with. “You’re right. I need taking care of.”

“Adin—” The elevator doors opened and a middle-aged couple got in. Whatever Donte meant to say was lost as they smiled awkwardly at each other. Boaz remained silent and stoic beside them.

They passed Boaz’s floor. Apparently he’d be joining them. For once Adin didn’t mind. He wanted to go to bed, and he preferred to do it alone. So if Boaz and Donte had business to transact, then Adin welcomed him.

“You still look pale.”

Adin shrugged.

“I’ve asked Boaz to arrange—”

“Fine.” Whatever it was, it was fine. Didn’t Donte understand he was breaking into a billion pieces? “I just need to be by myself for a bit.”

“I’ll make sure not to disturb you,” said Boaz.

Donte peered into Adin’s eyes. “If there’s anything we can get for you—anything we can do, will you tell me?”

Adin found a smile for him. It was pretty tarnished, but it curved his lips upward, almost like a real one. “I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

They stepped off the elevator as soon as it opened at their floor, and they were once again alone, or rather, it was him and Donte and the uncharacteristically silent Boaz.

It didn’t take a genius to realize Boaz was spoiling for a fight.

Maybe that’s what they needed, a clearing of the air. But Adin’s body, his very bones, still felt like they’d been left out in the desert for centuries. The ill effects of the experiment had swollen his joints and made his muscles ache. His skin was still raw in places. He just didn’t have the energy to care about anything. Not right then. Maybe never again…

The minute the door closed behind them, Boaz spoke. “What do you want me to do with the girl’s body?”

“Her name is Sahar,” Adin said through gritted teeth.

“What about her family?” asked Donte.

“She was dead to them. They’ll accept remuneration, but they don’t want her back. She shamed them by becoming a thrall.”

“We need to hold a private memorial service.” Honoring Sahar in death wouldn’t expiate Adin’s sins, but he wanted to do something for her. At the very least he could lay her to rest with gratitude and love. “We need to find her someplace beautiful.”

Boaz frowned. “What does it matter? Dead is dead.”

Adin glared at him. Why was he being such a shit? “It matters to me.”

“She was your first kill, Adin. Not your wife. And there will be others. Will Donte be expected to give them all royal funerals?”

“Boaz.” Donte’s tone held a warning.

“What?” Boaz asked sharply. “Adin is a vampire and vampires kill. It’s a fact.”

“Sahar’s death—” Donte directed a pointed look the imp’s way, “—was a tragic accident.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Boaz’s chin shot up. He pointed at Adin. “
He
didn’t listen to reason, and it got someone killed. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve always called a spade a spade, Donte.”

“We can discuss this later.”

“Why, because Adin can’t bear the guilt?” Boaz fisted both his hands. “What good will it do to soften what we say? What good can come of making things easy for him? Life is hard, and the more you coddle him—”

“That’s enough, Boaz.” Donte regarded Boaz coolly. “I do not have to justify myself to you.”

“Well, then. Justify this to yourself. That man
killed someone
because he thought he was above petty things like protocol and common sense and common decency. He’s been nothing but trouble since the day you met. How can you look past that?”

“This is none of your business.”

“Donte, he’s right,” Adin admitted. “I was an idiot. I shouldn’t have gone with Barrett.”

“Barrett drugged you.”

“I should never have gone to that club with him in the first place. I was the adult, I should have said no. It’s entirely my fault any of this happened—”

“I disagree with you there, but regardless—” he turned to Boaz, “—Adin is my lover, and you are in my employ.”

“So you’re saying you’d take his side over mine?” Boaz asked. “Even when you know I’m right?”

“Are you asking me to choose between you?” Donte’s voice was clipped and angry. No one dared move. “Have a care, Boaz. You will not like my answer.”

“Donte—”

“Adin is my lover.
My mate.
He is Kind and you are not. I value your loyalty, Boaz, but if you’re sworn to me, you’re sworn to him. You are the one who must choose.”

Without another word, Boaz left the room. Donte met Adin’s gaze.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Adin said. “Unless that was another scene enacted for my benefit, go after him. He’s loyal to you. You’re lucky to have him.”

Donte took Adin into his arms, lending him strength. “I’m lucky to have you. If he can’t see that, I don’t care if he leaves.”

“Well I do.”
How did I go from being hurt when Boaz reentered our lives to arguing we need him?
“I can’t believe I feel this badly about Boaz leaving again. I didn’t want him here in the first place. But you should go after him. Don’t let your friendship end because of me.”

“It’s his choice, Adin. If he wishes to go, then he will.”

“I’m sorry.” Adin felt the pull of oblivion. He needed rest. He welcomed it. “I’m so sorry.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Donte alternated between staring into his drink and looking out at the night sky. Adin had succumbed to sleep, or whatever passed for sleep, oblivion, as he called it. That deep fall into nothingness that had frightened him at first now welcomed him with open arms, apparently.

That was to be expected. It was all just exactly as expected.

Donte asked himself time and again if there was anything he could have done to prevent Sahar’s death. If there was any point in the timeline where he could go back, make a different decision, and alter the course of history.

He could have let Adin die, but he hadn’t. His choice had contributed to her death. His choice had caused it, but he couldn’t be sorry. There had been no other choice.

Men were fools in love.

Even now, in the face of Boaz’s anger, in the face of losing the loyalty of the imp who’d been by his side for nearly a century, Donte remained steadfast.

Who could say why he loved? Something sparks when people meet. Either the fire catches and love grows or it doesn’t. With Auselmo, love had been a long, slow burn. He’d felt it as an ache when he didn’t even know its cause. A longing to be close. The desire to see his beloved. To touch him. The fire consumed him so completely that he’d defied his family, his government, even his God, to burn in its flames. Who could say why? Auselmo, while extraordinary to Donte’s eyes, was just an ordinary boy to everyone else. Even his wife, who loved him, couldn’t see what Donte saw in him.

Was he deluded? Or was it simply the brevity of their lives together that gave the memory its power?

Would he eventually lose interest in Adin? Would Adin, like anything new, anything that seems so brilliant in the beginning, lose his luster?

Will I fall out of love and regret everything I’ve done and said since I met him?

How can I know?

In so many ways, Donte felt as young as that boy in the garden, hoping Auselmo’s gaze would fall on him.

A soft tap on the door shook him from his thoughts. Santos and Sean waited on the other side.

Donte opened the door. “Adin’s resting.”

“May we come in anyway?”

Donte hesitated. “What is this about?”

“I feel I owe you an apology.” Santos managed the words without choking, so Donte stepped aside and let them into the suite.

“I wish he’d called me before he went with Barrett,” Sean offered, “but he didn’t. I’m sorry. I should have called him. I should have—”

“Adin does what he wants. I know that better than anyone.” Donte led the pair into his sitting area, where they could make themselves comfortable in the plush accommodations. “Can I get you anything? I have scotch, whiskey, cognac.”

“I’ll have cognac.” Santos gave him a nod.

“Whiskey for me.” Sean sat next to Santos. “Neat, if you’d be so kind.”

Donte busied himself pouring, and returned to them with their drinks.

Sean sniffed at his and smiled widely in appreciation. “Ah, I can live without food, but this…”

“It’s been three days since the incident,” said Santos. “How is Adin faring?”

“He feeds when I tell him to. Rests when he can.” Donte returned to his seat and his glass. He let the strong spirits fortify him. “He refuses to talk about it.”

“How are you?” Santos appeared entirely sincere, for once.

“Do you really care?” Donte couldn’t keep his bitterness from showing. “Are we not immortal enemies, locked in deadly struggle for all eternity? Am I no longer your white whale?”

Santos waved that away. “I have plenty of enemies. One more or less won’t make a difference.”

Donte gave a sad laugh. “Really?”

“Perhaps Adin has had a civilizing influence on me. I lost good men the night he came into my life. He’s right to question whether my vendetta was worth it.”

“We’ve both lost good men over the years.”

“God, yes. Boaz’s father, what was his name?”

“Asaf.”

“I nearly got to him twice. If Boaz doesn’t hold that against me, then—”

“Boaz has gone.” Donte studied the drink in his hand.

“Has he?” asked Santos. “Is this another one of your games? I warn you, Adin is not the only one who will be furious with you if you lie to him again.”

“It’s not a game. I don’t know what got into him, but he made a direct challenge to my authority.”

“That doesn’t sound like Boaz.”

“Sure it does.” Sean took another sip of his drink and leaned back against the soft leather cushions of his chair. “Imps are notoriously territorial. If you asked him to transfer his loyalty—or worse, if he felt you’d transferred yours—it stands to reason he’d be upset.”

Donte gave that some thought. Boaz had been with him for a long time, and not once had he ever expressed resentment. “He was in my employ.”

“But perhaps he felt he was owed mutual loyalty, and when Adin came along, like a sibling who takes up all his parents’ time and energy, perhaps he felt…slighted?”

“Perhaps.”

“You should make amends there, my friend. Or maybe I should snap Boaz up for myself,” Santos warned playfully.

“It’s out of my hands.”

“What is?” Adin asked from the doorway. He looked sleep-rumpled and delicious, padding toward them in flannel pants and one of Donte’s dressing gowns. He went directly to the wet bar and poured himself a good three fingers of whiskey.

“Boaz,” Donte answered, studying his lover closely.

“Boaz didn’t like cleaning up after me. Apparently I’m a high-maintenance kind of pet.”

Donte hated for Adin to talk like that. “Adin—”

“Not that I blame him. He’s right. I appear to be starring in my own remake of
Pinocchio
. Everyone must be exhausted from watching me make a fool of myself by now.”

“Stop.” Sean stood. “You made a mistake and there were terrible consequences. You’re not the first to lose control and you won’t be the last.”

“I know that…” Adin stared into the amber liquid in his glass. “I know. But I’m sick of myself already and I have an eternity
—”

“We made a bargain, you and I,” Donte reminded him.

Adin gave him a weak smile. “I know we did. Thank you for that.”

“What kind of bargain?” Santos looked from Donte to Adin and back. “What is this bargain?”

“Donte’s agreed that if I should choose… If I can’t bear to be like this, he’ll end things.”

“Madness.” Santos turned to Donte and gave a low whistle. “The council will never allow it.”

“The council will have no choice in the matter.” Donte’s mind was made up.

“Do you know what you’re asking of him?” Sean’s gaze met Adin’s. “Have you thought it through? Because the accidental death of a thrall isn’t a crime, but Kind killing Kind? Punishable by death. And not an easy death, by the way. It’s medieval and horrifying, and I can’t imagine you’d want to subject Donte to something like that.”

Adin gasped. “You never said a word—”

“We can discuss it later.”

“The hell we can. I thought you people fought one another all the time.”

“That’s different. If a death occurs in war…well. That’s one thing.” Santos turned to Donte. “I’m surprised at you. You knew the penalty. And he’s your get. What could make you agree to such a terrible bargain?”

“Love.” Donte sighed. “I made a promise and I will keep it, no matter what.”

“I hate this.” Adin put his glass down with an audible
crack.
“I hate all of it.”

Sean’s irritation blossomed into anger. “You’ve got everything, man. How can you not see it? I don’t even care if you fuck up your own life, but you’re taking a good man down with you, and I can’t see why you’d do that.”

“You can’t see?” Adin rose to his feet. “You can’t see? I
killed
someone. How am I supposed to live with that?”

“People die every day.” Sean stood and faced him angrily, toe to toe. They were evenly matched. Adin was taller but Sean outweighed him. “There are industrial accidents. People fall asleep with a cigarette or they misjudge a turn in the road and some innocent person dies. Every day, someone must learn to live with the consequences of their actions. This is your day.”

“But—”

Sean gave him a shove. “No one goes through life blameless.”

“Don’t give me that existential crap.” Adin steadied himself and stood his ground. “I
killed
someone.”

Donte started toward him, but Santos blocked his way. “Don’t.”

“I killed her.
Me.
” Adin’s fist thudded against his chest over and over. “I have to live with it. I have to see her face every time I close my goddamn eyes. I feel her loss like a bomb going off inside me. I grieve for her. Forgive me if I’m not over it yet, but it’s only been three goddamn days.”

“Nobody says you have to get over it,” Donte said gently.

“I would think,” said Santos, “that you will never get over it. I hope you don’t. If you did, then you truly would be a monster.”

Adin fell back against wall and slid down, wrapping his arms around his knees. “You don’t understand.”

“The hell we don’t.” Sean scoffed.

“Adin, these things that plague you, they come to us all,” said Santos. “We each have things we regret deeply. We’ve taken lives we would give anything to return. It simply doesn’t work that way.”

“Maybe I could have turned her,” Adin said quietly.

“Perhaps. There is no guarantee she’d have survived it.”

“I know.” Adin bowed his head. “I know all this. Knowing doesn’t help. It doesn’t make anything easier.”

“Tutto passera,” said Santos. “This too shall pass. Time, we have in abundance. And with it we must attempt to do the right thing.”

“Christ. Save me from vampire philosophers.” The words fell from Adin’s lips in a half laugh, half sob. He rose, smoothed his clothing carefully, and started toward the bedroom. “I’m tired. I need to rest.”

“I’ll be there in just a moment,” said Donte.

Adin turned at the doorway. “It’s all right. You don’t need to watch over me. I won’t do anything stupid in the next few hours, anyway.”

Donte watched him go.

“Surely you don’t intend to keep your bargain,” Santos asked, once Adin could no longer hear.

“Oh, but I do,” said Donte. “I just hope I won’t have to.”

“At this point, I’d like to kill him myself,” Sean muttered. “That is not the Adin I first met when I delivered your music box.”

“No. It isn’t,” Donte agreed. “This has broken him.”

“And now your love will fix him. Is that it?” Sean’s green eyes met Donte’s with disdain. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope we all know what we’re doing.” Santos picked up his glass and handed it to Donte. “We won’t keep you. We just stopped by to see how Adin is.”

Donte nodded. “He is as you see.”

“We’ll see ourselves out.” Santos took Sean by the arm and propelled him to the door. “We’ll be around for a few more days if you have need.”

“Sahar’s memorial is tomorrow. At dusk.”

“Send me the details. I’ll be there,” said Santos.

“I’d like to go.” Sean nodded. “For Adin.”

“Done.” Donte closed the door behind them, alone again, with his drink and the view. With his ugly thoughts and terrible decisions.

Now that Adin knew the consequences of the promise he’d asked Donte to make, would it alter his course?

Donte thought it might.

But he’d promised to aid Adin, if Adin needed him. He would do as Adin asked. It was no different from being a kaishakunin, or second, in the ritual suicide of seppuku. If Adin needed reassurance that he still held his destiny in his own hands, then Donte would give that to him.

There was no question in his mind. The decision, even though it affected both their lives, was up to Adin.

Donte was tired too.

He’d lived long enough.