When Devon woke, he was slumped against a warm body and surrounded by even warmer water.
It was a pleasant surprise; in the two days since Tyler’s attack, aching muscles had kept Devon in bed, asleep. Waking in the bathtub was a surprise; knowing Andrew was with him made the surprise sweeter.
The day before, Andrew had traced cool fingers over Devon, leaving a silver-blue magical flicker behind. Your body isn’t used to changing, he said.
His touch whispered over him, easing the ache. How do you know? Devon asked.
I know your body.
Mmm. Yes. Devon had wished that Andrew had been there the last time he’d woken like this, after the vampire died.
The vampire didn’t die, he thought. You killed him.
It still surprised him. He’d thought--hoped--that he’d wounded the vampire or held it in sunlight long enough for it to be destroyed.
Now, he was delighted with himself. He’d stopped the vampire. He’d protected Prior.
Unease threaded through Devon. At one time, he would have given anything to keep Prior safe. Prior was handsome and clever and passionate. He also had a gun filled with silver bullets and a good aim.
“Hey,” Andrew whispered. The soft greeting ghosted down Devon’s neck and sent a pleasant shiver through him. “Are you okay?”
“What makes you think something is wrong?”
“Your ears are down.”
“My--” Devon had forgotten about Andrew’s sight.
When Tyler attacked his lover two days before, it had woken Andrew’s magic and given him an incredible sight. Now, when he wasn’t wearing his glasses, he could see magic in the world around them.
“I was thinking of the vampire,” Devon said. It was a safe place to start.
Andrew’s warm, wet fingers whispered over Devon’s face, brushing his hair back. “I was hoping you would tell me about what happened sometime.”
“A lot of it is just speculation.”
“What do you know for certain?”
“He attacked me. Drank some of my blood.”
“How did you get away?”
“I stabbed him with a pencil. The wood scarred him.” And he’d kept that pencil, bringing it with him to the trap he would later set for Devon. Later, when Devon fled New Hampshire, he realized that the Hammer horror films he’d been raised on had been partially right--wood and fire hurt vampires, and silver hurt werewolves.
There’d been witches in some of those movies. What would iron and fire do to Andrew?
Later, he decided. Later he would pull up the Netflix page on his computer and order the Hammer series. “He also had a picture of my parents and grandparents,” Devon said.
“Everyone had a circle over their face, and there was a circle over my mother’s stomach. I think someone hired him to kill me.”
Andrew’s fingers trailed down Devon’s arm, and then back up. Down. Up. Down. Up.
“I would give almost anything to kill whoever sent him,” he said.
A collage of emotions darted through Devon. Relief. Surprise. Flattered. Andrew wasn’t Prior. Handsome, yes. Clever, certainly. He was also kind and fierce and not afraid to touch something that could sprout fur and teeth.
“I would give anything to have protected you from Tyler,” Devon said.
“Well, I think if he’d known that you were a werewolf he actually would have stayed away. He seemed really unnerved by you.”
Him and Prior both.
“Were you shot because of the vampire?” Andrew asked. “In my mind, vampires and silver bullets go hand in hand.”
Devon shifted, laying his head back against Andrew’s shoulder. “Yes.”
His answer came out softly, as if it was afraid that someone would notice it if it were louder. Foolish fear. Prior was across the country. Devon could scream the answer and he wouldn’t hear it.
“I’d like to hear about it sometime,” Andrew said.
“Sometime,” Devon whispered. An ache grew in his throat. He had not lied to Prior but he could finally understand why the man had thought he had. Devon was afraid that he’d wounded Prior to the point of not trusting another lover again.
Warm lips grazed Devon’s forehead. “I’ll wait,” Andrew said. “No more secrets, though.”
Devon liked the sound of that. “I borrowed your black sweater after our second date so that I’d have something that smelled like you.”
Andrew chuckled. The deep sound gently reverberated against Devon’s back, making him aware of the places that their skin touched. “Not quite what I had in mind but all right."
Footsteps thumped quietly up the steps, drawing Devon’s attention away from his notes on mages.
He tipped his head to one side, studying the sound. They were too light to be Andrew. Sean, he thought, saving his file on the computer. When he turned a moment later, Sean stood in the doorway.
“Hey,” Sean said.
“Hey.” Devon smiled and motioned him to come in. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Sean shook his head. “It’s my mom’s birthday. Or was. I’m not certain.”
“It is,” Devon said, rising. He’d known it was coming but had thought it would be tomorrow.
Wait--he glanced at the clock on his desk. It was a little after midnight, so technically it already was tomorrow. “Would you like to go to her graveside?”
“Yeah.” Sean stepped up to him. “Can we go now?”
Surprise threaded through Devon. Sean wanted to go now?
Then the surprise faded and Devon remembered being thirteen. His parents had been buried separately; his father at his family crypt in England and his mother in the small little graveyard in Connecticut that held her parents and aunt. Devon had not been able to visit her grave until he left his grandparent’s place, and for years he’d wondered if anyone brought her flowers.
“Yes,” Devon said. How high was the fence surrounding Julia’s graveyard? Six feet? Seven? Hopefully they would find a quiet, hidden corner to work with. “Let’s grab our coats.”
