Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 981(@200wpm)___ 785(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Kyle smiles, listening to him go on. But the smile becomes strained as he listens more, until at last Elias goes to make some dinner, and Kyle is left by the couch in a daze, listening mildly to the sounds in the kitchen, alone with his thoughts. They eat together—Kyle enjoying the smallest bit of human food, all he needs each day to get by when he isn’t drinking blood—then they take a shower together to wash away the evening. Then comes that inevitable time of night when Elias tests the waters of whether Kyle is ready to have some fun.
Except tonight, Elias doesn’t even ask. “Ready to sleep?”
Kyle lies on the bed next to him, wondering if he’s already given up. Or if he’s still just being kind, respecting Kyle’s space.
And Kyle wonders what Elias’s nightmare was really about.
Had Lazarus come for him again in his dreams?
Did he let out his fangs, this faceless monster Elias has never seen, to take another taste of Elias while he slept so peacefully?
What if it wasn’t Lazarus in Elias’s dream?
What if it was Kyle?
It’s long after midnight that Kyle slips from Elias’s arms, stands at the bedroom door, watches his boyfriend sleep. Elias is dreaming calmly now … unlike before on the couch. Kyle wishes he could ensure that Elias always sleeps so calmly, with no nightmares hiding in the shadows. Kyle would happily give anything to guarantee their safety.
It’s why Kyle decides to put on a t-shirt and pair of jeans. Shoes. Write a note. Put it on the kitchen table next to Elias’s favorite coffee mug, the one with “R.I.P. SLEEP” written in small block letters across the middle.
Then slip out of the house, unheard.
12.
I Am a Game They Must Win.
—∙—
Tristan moves quickly down a long stone corridor, one side opened with artificial sunlight and a view of the mountains, and his movement slows. This is the last place he spoke to Kyle before using his Lull on him and sending him back to his life.
He thinks of Kyle cuddling with Elias in a bed. Laughing at his jokes. Making each other breakfast. Stirring a spoon in a cup of tasteless coffee, playing the roles of two human lovers.
Why do these thoughts irritate Tristan so deeply?
“Oh, to find you here,” comes George’s lofty voice. Tristan looks up, not having been paying attention to who approaches from ahead. “I am quite busy,” he states in a pompous tone. “It so happens I am on a scavenger hunt of sorts. Oh, oh … but I am not allowed to say much else,” he then adds, lifting a finger, “except that it is for an important … and secretive … matter.”
Tristan wipes the sleepiness out of his eyes. What he wouldn’t give for a pillow right now. Ah, I so wish I could be special enough to know this most interesting and vital scavenger hunt you are on.
“Regrettably, I have already said too much.” George titters to himself, appearing delighted with Tristan’s curiosity. “I am almost done with my assignment. It is a tricky, dangerous assignment that I have been entrusted with. Ah, but again, I reveal too much. My apologies that you must be excluded from this. Really, it is for the best that you don’t know. Ah, but I think you’d wish you knew.”
Tristan plays his own role well, feigning disappointment. I do hope your mission is not too dangerous, my friend.
“We aren’t friends.” George frowns. “But you’ll wish we were. I tell my friends my secrets. I must complete my task soon, so I haven’t the time to waste with idle conversation. Off I go.” He saunters smugly down the corridor, stripes of shadow falling over him as he passes the columns eclipsing the artificial sunlight.
Tristan watches him for some time, amusement curling his lips, enjoying George’s manufactured sense of importance. To his back, Tristan says, I do hope you’re successful in your mission.
More than just George’s ego counts on it.
As Tristan continues the other way down the corridor, he lifts his wrist, bites off another bead, then suffers the bitter taste as he thinks of a face and of a name. Each time he eats one, he imagines it’s another healthy thing he fussed about as a child. This is for your own good, he tells himself, pretending to be his own father, eat your vegetables, little Tris, be a good boy. It never helps the taste.
But there are only a few left.
Before he realizes it, he stands in the featureless white foyer again. “Lord Markadian will see you now,” recites Miss May.
Tristan offers each a groggy smile. I am glad my addition of the two vases to this room have remained. It was far too bare in here, and these vases are now safe from Markadian’s acute throwing arm.