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

Cha
pter Four

After Adin’s disillusionment, the deepest silence of each quiet, careful day came at dawn.

“Good morning.” Donte stayed where he was, afraid any sudden move on his part might tip the first emotional domino in the Rube Goldberg machine of Adin’s temper. “Where’s Sean?”

“Off to feed, I imagine.” Sean had taken to disappearing when Adin and Donte were together. He didn’t like the arguing.

Donte nodded. “I see.”

Adin turned, his expression one of polite inquiry. “Did you feed?”

“Yes. I did.” Donte took a single step forward, and when that went unremarked, he chanced another. Eventually, he joined Adin at the window. All Donte could see outside was the thick stand of rugged vegetation—a forest of fir trees, still blue-black in the shadows. “You could have come with me. We could have shared her.”

“I hate you.”

“It’s too early for that, caro.” Donte brushed a stray lock of Adin’s hair behind his ear. “You have the whole day for hating me. There’s plenty of time to work up to it.”

“I have nothing but time.” Adin’s laugh sounded hollow. “Endless, inconceivable amounts of time, spooling out like—”

“Adin—”

“You don’t get to use that tone.” Adin pushed Donte back firmly. “You don’t get to talk to me as if I were a spoiled child who won’t take his medicine.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“So find me something to do.” Adin let the curtain drop. “I’ve got an eternity, and I don’t need to cook or eat. I don’t like to
sleep
. Those things used to piss away half of my life.”

Since they had this argument nearly every day, Donte knew his part well. “All right, what would you like to do?”

“I can’t show myself in the daylight. I don’t have a job. I can’t go visit my sister.

“Of course you can visit Deana. Say the word and we will go.”

“And tell her what?” Adin asked. “Oh, by the way, can we have lunch at midnight from now on, because I had an erotic mishap with my undead lover and
mistakes were made
.”

“Che cazzo—” For once, Donte’s patience dwindled dangerously. “You’re a man of letters, for heaven’s sake. Read a book.
Write
a book. Learn another language. Your options are—Gods, it’s so cliché—they’re limited only by your imagination. Stop being a wanker. Or memorize
Hamlet
and be a world-class
literary
wanker, if you don’t have anything else to do.”

“I’ve done that,” said Adin, working up to a fine, petulant rage. “I did that in middle school.”

This is a child,
Donte reminded himself.
A toddler.
This is
my
child, my lover, my creation, mine to protect and to care for until he learns to care for himself
.
Mine because I made him.
He softened his words. “What do you want to do? Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Adin scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I want to shut your goddamn mouth.”

“Come then, caro. Look at me. That’s an easy one.” Donte took both Adin’s hands in his. He waited until that frantic hazel gaze met his before dropping to his knees. “Shut my mouth for me, beloved.”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had yet.” Adin’s lips lifted into a cruelish smile as he gripped Donte’s hair and pulled. “Come here, you bastard.”

Donte shuffled closer on his knees, fingers reaching for the elastic waistband of Adin’s silken sleep pants. The earthy scent of Adin’s arousal drifted from beneath the fabric, enticing him. Beguiling him. “Let me serve you.”

“
Service
me.” Adin’s grip tightened painfully.

“Yes.” Donte mouthed the fabric covering Adin’s tight, hard cock before glancing up. “It will be entirely my pleasure to service you.”

At Adin’s languid sigh, desire filled Donte. He uncovered Adin’s mouthwatering cock, pink and glistening at the tip, pale shaft thickly engorged—deeply veined and perfect. Delicious. Donte tongued a drop of fluid, then laved a curlicue over the plump, salty head. As Adin hissed his pleasure, Donte hummed happily.

Adin stroked his jaw. “Open.”

Donte let his mouth fall open at Adin’s words. That first, dizzying sweep of Adin’s flesh filled him, blowing a vast wind of passion all through him. It quickened his libido until desire filled biology’s slack sails and caught him up, forcing his unnecessary heart and lungs into motion to thicken his cock. Whatever magic made sex possible—whatever made the blood surge through his lifeless veins and his cock lift like a zombie marionette—he thanked the gods for it.

“Yeah.” Adin rolled his hips, forcing his sweet cock deeper into Donte’s throat. “Yes. That.”

Donte wrapped his hands around Adin’s ankles, sliding them up to play over the luscious, muscled curves of his calves to his thighs and his ass.

“Don’t touch me.”

Oh, we are in a fine rage today, aren’t we?

Donte reluctantly pulled his hands away and folded them primly behind his back. He let his body go still, allowing Adin to own him.

“That’s right. You do what I say.” Adin seemed pleased. “Suck me.”

Delighted, più amato. I’m hungry for you. Fill me up. I don’t break easily.

“Oh, for—” Adin pushed Donte sharply away and flung himself onto the floor, his back against the rustic cabin wall. “It’s no goddamn fun if I can hear you telling me to go right ahead.”

“Sorry.” Donte wiped a string of saliva from his lips. “I forget you have that advantage now.”

Adin gave him a small, irritated shove with his foot. “No offense, but you’re shit at this whole submission thing.”

“None taken, I’m sure.” Donte’s lips twitched, his heart lighter now that Hurricane Adin seemed to be subsiding. “I’ve spent very little time on my knees. Perhaps if we revisit the idea on the bed upstairs, you could—” Donte stilled, hyperaware of an incoming presence, someone approaching the cabin from the rear—someone like him.
Like them
. He listened with his senses, watching Adin to see how long it took for him to feel the approach of another predator.

“I plan to—” Adin broke off, his silence and his posture wary. Several seconds passed before he whispered, “What is that?”

“Very good.” Donte gave Adin a brief smile. Despite their play, he’d been paying attention. That was very good. “It see
ms we have company.”

Donte rose to his feet and held out his hand. Adin declined his help. He rose gracefully, fluidly, from the floor. Donte wished he’d had more time to enjoy the silken grace of his lover’s body. He motioned Adin behind him. Together, they went to the kitchen window.

Donte shifted the thin fabric ever so slightly and they peered out over the rocky path leading to the thin stream that bordered their property. Fir trees cast blue shadows in the early morning light.

“Trouble?” Adin asked, sotto voce.

Donte’s senses told him what his eyes did not. One of their kind, coming up from the river trail, not the road. He was hiding himself, either from view or from the sun.

Sean drifted into the room behind them. “Visitor?”

“Possibly.”

“What do you see?” Sean asked.

“Nothing.”

Adin peered out from behind his protective lover’s back. “Don’t you think since he’s been thoughtful enough to announce his presence, we should find out who it is and what he wants?”

Donte shook his head. “We wait.”

A few moments passed. Donte stood close enough to feel the crackle of anxiety from Adin’s body. He held himself as still as a stone gargoyle, enjoying the comparison—the idea of waiting in motionless silence to ward off evil.

Stillness was far more difficult for his energetic, impulsive lover. He brushed a kiss across Adin’s temple. “Hush.”

Adin lifted his shoulders and dropped them. “I can’t help it.”

“Fedeltà?” Cristobel Santos’s voice and several stamping footsteps eradicated any hope Donte had of a pleasurable interlude in bed with Adin. “Hello the house. Are you boys decent?”

Before Donte could form the words, “Absolutely not,” Adin had opened the door.

Adin waved at their visitor. “Santos. Welcome.”

“For God’s sake, Adin. Don’t simply let him
in
.” The pleased smile on Adin’s face made Donte snarl an oath. Despite Donte’s justifiable antipathy toward Santos, his lover and his oldest enemy were on friendly terms. It frayed Donte’s very last undead nerve. “You don’t welcome an unknown into your home.”

“He’s not unknown,” Adin argued. “He’s Santos.”

“Don’t shoot, copper!” Santos smiled broadly as he entered the small cabin, both hands in the air like the bad guy in a gangster movie. “Hello, Sean. Are you well?”

“As well as might be.” Sean inclined his head.

“Donte,” Santos acknowledged him.

A wave of dangerous energy buffeted Donte—the product of five centuries of enmity. Santos was almost as old. Almost as powerful.
Almost.
Donte eyed him. “To what do we owe the dubious pleasure?”

“Lovely to see you too.” Santos turned to give Adin a fatherly smile. “My dear boy. How are you?”

“Up and down. Angry. Bored.” Adin shrugged. He tilted his head toward Donte and Sean. “Cooped up and edgy, despite the company.”

“Adin.” Donte’s voice betrayed raw emotion. “This man is our enemy.”

“Pax, Fedeltà. I’ve only come to see how Adin fares.”

“Welcome to our home,” said Adin.

Their home.
“For the love of God, Adin—”

“Santos is my
guest
, Donte.”

Adin had to know how much effort it took for Donte to keep from tossing Santos out the door and throwing Sean out after him. Donte frowned at all of them. “Very well. The least I can do is offer you a drink.”

“Excellent.” Santos unwound his paisley silk scarf, hanging it over Donte’s arm as if he were a towel rack. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Chapter Five

Adin attended the first strictly vampire gathering of his undead life with some small amusement. Donte led them all into the inappropriately named “sunroom”, where three walls of specially treated glass windows allowed them to look out on a pretty forested landscape, including bright, flashing glimpses of the river and the hills beyond. He poured each man a glass of wine. A humidor, cutters, and ashtrays lay on a cocktail table central to four exquisitely upholstered leather club chairs and a loveseat. He and Donte took the loveseat, and Sean and Santos sat down opposite. The four of them could have played the part of mobsters or politicians or drug kingpins in any film of any era.

Adin let his head fall back to the cushions. Three pairs of eyes followed his movement. Since his skin no longer pulsed with life, he had to put their interest down to predatory instinct. Their eyes followed anything that moved.

“All right, Adin?” Sean asked.

Adin closed his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Of the three elders, Sean was closest to him in temperament. When they’d met, Sean had seemed as irreverent and footloose as Adin was in the days before he was turned. He was exactly the kind of man Adin usually looked for in a playmate—daring, rash, unconsciously provocative.

Sean had once referred to himself as “a little more Tolkien than Stoker”. The word “elfin” suited him. He was otherworldly. Fey and enticing. Keenly intelligent and kind, he seemed the sort to make even a gloomy day into a brilliant adventure.

Not like Donte, who would hold the world record if brooding were an Olympic event.

Adin hadn’t missed the flicker of heat in Sean’s eyes when he’d first arrived. Adin had been so angry with Donte he’d forgotten it. A light pinch on Adin’s thigh got his attention. He glanced at Donte, whose expression was murderous.

“Must say I’m flattered, Adin.” Sean winked.

“Is there trouble in paradise already?” Santos asked.

“Call it cabin fever,” said Donte. Adin didn’t contradict him. Their problems weren’t Santos’s business.

“Adin, you need to learn to shield your thoughts better.” Santos glanced at Donte. “Some people are very touchy about their pets.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Adin bristled. “I have never been anyone’s
pet
.”

“Adin,” Donte warned.
Christ.
Right on cue with the reining in.

“Right, yes.” Santos covered his amusement with a sip of wine. “I can see that.”

“Why are you here, Santos?” Adin set his glass down so hard it shattered. “Oh,
fuck
.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what’re you getting all worked up over?” While Adin stared at his hands in dismay, Sean dove in and swept the glass into a neat pile with his handkerchief. “I’ll get it.”

“I bring news,” said Santos. “About your old business rival, Ned Harwiche.”

“You came all this way for that?” Adin stared at the ruined glass. “Harwiche is a tool.”

“Aren’t you even interested to know what it is?” Santos asked.

“Apparently he’s not as interested in hearing it as you are in sharing it.” Donte smiled fondly at Adin. “Adin is above your games, Cristiano.”

At the sound of his name, Santos met Donte’s gaze. “No one has called me Cristiano in a long time.”

“Your father called you Cristianello, as I recall.” Donte’s voice grew hoarse. “Or Pazzo when you were very silly.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t remember.” Santos lowered his gaze to his wineglass. “Will you walk with me, Adin? My news concerns you.”

Adin made to rise, but Donte laid a hand on his arm. “Why must you speak to Adin alone?”

“Because I choose it.” Santos got to his feet. “Adin will tell you what I have to say, if he wants you to know.”

“Adin keeps no secrets from me.”

“Are you certain?” Santos was like a kid who couldn’t keep himself from poking a sibling in the backseat of a car. “I doubt I would be so sure, under the circumstances.”

“Knock it off, Santos.” But Adin laughed because Santos was speaking the truth. To Donte he said, “I’ll be fine.”

“Adin—”

“We’ve talked about this,” Adin said through clenched teeth. “You
must
learn to trust me.”

Donte’s expression implored him to see reason. “It’s not
you
I don’t trust.”

“Ultimately, every time you pull back on me like this you’re saying you have no faith in my judgment.” Adin ran his fingers over the cool curve of Donte’s cheek. “You have no right to tell me what to do. None whatsoever.”

“As you say.” Donte’s lashes lowered, but not before Adin saw a brief flare of pain in his dark eyes.

Adin stood, indicating he expected Santos to go ahead. At the door, he picked a hoodie off a hook and pulled it on over his head before choosing an umbrella from the stand. “If you need sun protection—”

“I have something, thank you.” Santos produced a travel-sized umbrella from the pocket of his coat.

As Adin opened the door and stepped outside, Santos deployed his umbrella, which turned out to be made of fabric printed with the artwork of Marc Chagall. The pure, fir-scented mountain air proved bracing and the cold chased the lethargy from his brain, even though he didn’t really experience it the same way he would have before being turned. There was no gooseflesh, no chill. No involuntary flinch when he breathed the cold air in, because…he didn’t breathe. His body was still a stranger to him.

“It takes getting used to, doesn’t it?” Santos’s words called his attention back. “You wait for something to happen—a shiver or a burn—that never comes.”

“I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever accustom myself to this.” Adin sighed. “All right, tell me what’s so important besides pissing Donte off.”

“Ned Harwiche died two days ago.”

“Did he?” Adin paused, trying the idea out.
Ned Harwiche is dead?
“Would it be wrong for me to say I’m delighted to hear it?”

“Yes, it would be, but what do you care if it’s wrong or not? Harwiche was a dreadful little man.”

“He was.” Adin stepped off the porch and chose the path that led past Donte’s tiny greenhouse. “I knew he was sick. I’m surprised he didn’t allow himself to be turned.”

“Oh, he did try that, in the end. But he’d refused the option for so long—” Santos stepped down the flagstone stairs and onto the earthen path, “—it seems his transformation was unsuccessful.”

Adin was aware his own transformation might have been equally vain. A shudder ripped through him at the thought of facing oblivion for real. “How often does that happen?”

“About a third of the time the results are…less than fruitful.” Santos lifted his shoulder. “Most people believe the risk to be acceptable.”

“Most people are idiots.”

“I know of your thoughts on the matter.” Santos gestured toward him. “Yet here you are.”

“Yes.” Adin swallowed the bitterness of betrayal, yet again. “Here I am.”

“You know Fedeltà did this to you. Boaz never acted alone.”

“I know that, now.” Adin swallowed back his bitterness. “But how did you know?”

Santos studied him like he was looking for a fundamental flaw. “I understand power and I know my history. When a king says, ‘Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?’ he can expect someone to act on his words. That person, while being condemned publicly, might even—privately—be rewarded for it. We have all seen this.”

“I’m now well aware of Donte’s part in turning me.” Adin stopped in the shade of a natural outcropping of rock. He thought back to the night he’d left the hospital, irrevocably changed.
Weak.
Tuan and Edward had come to provide support, but it had been Santos who’d offered to foster him. Santos who’d promised to show him how to negotiate his new, undead existence. Donte had arrived armed to accuse Santos—to kill him—to shift the blame. “I wish he hadn’t made a spectacle of blaming you. I’m sorry about that.”

“The rest doesn’t bother you?” Santos asked.

“Of course it bothers me. I’m handling it. Why are you so determined to be the grain of sand in my oyster, Santos?”

“Because it amuses me.” Santos laughed. “You amuse me.”

“I’m just a relatively new way for you to annoy Donte.”

“I agree. But I have grown fond of you. And I’m curious how you feel about your
lover
having you turned without your consent?”

“How do you think I feel?” Adin asked. “I’m conflicted. I love him and I hate him.”

“You can come to me.”

Adin snorted. “I hope I have more than those two choices: Donte or you.”

Santos found a flatish boulder and invited Adin to sit next to him. “Maybe. But my offer of help and protection stands.”

“Where does Sean fit into your scheme? Why did you send him here?”

“Sean wanted to see you again, and I thought it would be interesting to see Donte’s reaction.” Santos laughed. “It’s so charming. Count Niccolo becomes a junkyard dog when faced with a rival.”

“Donte doesn’t see Sean as a rival. He doesn’t see anyone as a rival.”

“Nevertheless.” Santos’s expression turned grave. “I’m going to suggest something serious: Keep Sean with you, make him
your
Boaz, as it were. He’s easily as useful as Boaz ever was. He can act as your valet, driver, and personal assistant. He’ll be loyal to you, while Boaz will always be loyal to Donte.”

“Is that your way of ensuring you have a spy in the enemy camp?”

Santos waved that off as though he hadn’t given it a thought. Which Adin was sure he had. “Sean’s merely an acquaintance. As far as I know, he doesn’t take sides. He’ll keep you safe, for a price, and Donte will accept another elder as an unwelcome necessity for a while, should you wish to leave his side. If I were you, and I wanted autonomy, I’d pay whatever Sean asks.”

“Autonomy. I wonder…” Adin allowed the word to roll around on his tongue, but in his heart he was hearing
freedom.
“Can I ever have that again?”

“The question is will you allow yourself to have it? Look at you. You’ve lost weight. You’re muscles are weak.” Santos frowned. “You’re practically transparent. Are you feeding?”

“Of course I am. When it’s necessary.” He despised himself for it. “Not humans.”

“You’re feeding off
animals
?” Santos made the word sound like garbage, as if Adin had said he was
Dumpster diving.

“When I need it.” Adin glanced away.

“That’s not enough, Adin. You need to feed properly.”

“I don’t need much.”

“I just fed. Take from me.” Santos wrestled impatiently with one of his heavy gold cufflinks before rolling the sleeve of his coat, suit, and immaculate white dress shirt up to his elbow.

Even though his mouth watered at the thought, Adin stayed where he was. “
No
.”

“Whyever not?” Santos demanded. “Because Donte would misinterpret the intimacy? He would blame you for nourishing yourself? You’re half-starved. If I can see it, Donte must. Why does he allow you to suffer?”

“It’s not his decision. Nor is it yours.” Adin rose sharply. Unable to hide his weakness, he braced himself against a tree. The bark bit into his fingers, and he let the pain strengthen his resolve. “I don’t want your blood.”

“You think I don’t understand? Fedeltà’s as obsessed with you as he was with my father, and he’s destroying you just as surely. Take what I’m offering. There are no strings here, just—”

“No.” Adin’s heart filled with unholy yearning. The strength—the immense vitality—of Santos’s body made his offer doubly tantalizing. The faintest hint of Aqua di Gio clung to Santos’s clothing, competing with Santos’s usual fragrance, something much darker and bolder. He’d probably fed on a man who’d been wearing it. Adin could almost taste the human richness in his blood and he wanted it.
God, how he wanted it
.

“Leave me alone.” Adin pushed away from the tree and turned back, toward the cabin. Toward Donte and the safety of home. Desire for blood, as strong as anything he’d ever felt, sparked along his synapses, dizzying him. He staggered up the path, breaking into a slow trot, knowing he’d fall if he didn’t keep moving. He took a bad step, knocked his foot on a rock in the path, and all that momentum carried him along while his feet folded beneath him. Santos caught him before he could hit the ground.

“Enough.” With what felt like superhuman strength, Santos pulled him off the path and into the underbrush where it was cool but damp. “Wait here.”

“No, I—”

“I’m trying to help you. For once in your life, do as you’re told.” Santos covered Adin with his topcoat before creeping silently back through the brush. “I’ll be back.”

Adin lay in the loamy soil, listening to the wind ruffling through the tree branches. Countless hearts beat—birds and mammals nesting, flying, building, burrowing. Insects scuttled through the fragrant carpet of pine needles beneath him. He smelled vegetation, decaying earth, and the minerals hidden within. He heard the musical trickle of water. He should have been awed by it all, would have been delighted a bare few months ago. Now, the immensity of it simply exhausted him.

Adin closed his eyes without succumbing to the emptiness of sleep. He hated to sleep. Hated the sensation of falling, of darkness closing in on him.

Now
I
sound like Shakespeare’s Great Dane. Ruh-roh.

Clouds passed overhead, casting shadows over the ground where Adin lay. Minutes passed. Santos returned with two fat rabbits struggling wildly in his sure grip.

Adin’s greed was so immense he snatched the creatures from Santos and turned away to dispatch them, exsanguinating them one by one and discarding the poor things’ carcasses for other hungry carnivores. It was a filthy, grisly thing—barely satisfying. Small animals might stave off hunger, but they never fully satisfied him. Afterward, he waited, unable to face Santos.

“Hunger is nothing to be ashamed of.” Santos’s voice was as gentle as the hand Santos laid on his shoulder. “Every living thing must eat.”

Adin swallowed the bile that always rose to his throat as soon as his hunger ebbed. He recalled a lifetime of after-dinner coffee and quiet conversation and gave a brief, bitter laugh. “I know.”