Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
A moment of silence passes. Then Tristan sits next to Kyle on the bench. The silence of the hallway persists.
“I can’t believe you would align with these monsters,” says Kyle. “This isn’t you.”
I know.
“Would that fact just now have even saved me in Mark’s stupid pretend court I was just subjected to? The fact that the entire situation, the video, everything was because of … of …”
I really can’t say, Kyle. My gift of the mind only goes so far.
“He said my gift was from the heart. He said the heart was the weakest of the three types.”
I suppose it depends on the heart.
“What deal did you strike in there? With Lord Mark of Not-Las-Vegas?” Kyle looks at Tristan, looks him right in his misty blue eyes. “What does it mean to lay your immortal life down against mine?”
It’s quite simple. My immortal life is the collateral for your strict obedience of the deal we have made with the Lord of Vegasyn.
Kyle frowns. “And what is that deal, exactly?”
That you return to Nowhere. That you enjoy your life just the way you want. That none of those fifty-seven humans you confided in share your secret with anyone. See? Simple as that.
Kyle’s eyes avert, his stomach twisting, unsettled. “And … if that deal is somehow violated? Somehow broken?”
Then I will be violated. I will be broken.
“Tristan …”
Like I said. It’s the least I can do. I’ll never ask your forgiveness. I will just do what I can to secure your happiness. With little acts and big ones. By the way, I’m the one for whom Wendy works.
Kyle shudders. “I know.”
She and I go way back, decades, since before I even met you. I told her to return your brother’s ring to you, but … didn’t realize she’d do so in such a cruel manner. I’m quite sorry. Wendy can be a … sadistic fiend at times, but I promise she doesn’t mean to be like that any more than the roots of a tree mean to dislodge a sidewalk. A true accident. Like bubblegum on your shoe. Or a baby sister.
“Or kissing with teeth,” says Kyle.
He glances at Tristan. Tristan gazes back.
At once, Tristan takes hold of Kyle by his face, presses his pale pink lips against Kyle’s own. All the cool wintry breeze of his emotions become enflamed at once, swirled into a fire that surges as the kiss deepens.
Kyle grunts as he feels Tristan’s teeth pierce his lip.
Blood swells between them as they kiss. After each bite, a lapping of tongue, like an apology. Then the kiss strengthens with another bite, over and over. Tristan’s fingers claw into Kyle’s shirt, bodies pressed together. It is the first time Kyle has kissed him with his connection, every burst of emotion twofold.
They part abruptly, stare into one another’s eyes.
Red lips. Blue eyes. Out of breath.
I suppose we should say our goodbyes. Tristan’s eyes are not sad or pained as he speaks. I don’t wish to test Lord Mark’s patience any more than I already have today. Really, you don’t want to find yourself here again. This is a place of endings.
Kyle lets go of Tristan. It isn’t easy. “I understand.”
I suppose I’ll do my Lull thing to you now. Need to keep secret the location of the House of Lord Vegasyn. Protocol. Tristan brushes a drop of Kyle’s blood to his mouth. I hope you’re able to fulfill your end of the deal. Live as comfortably, as peacefully, as invisibly as you can, among your new family in the middle of Nowhere. I have really enjoyed seeing your pretty eyes again. Thank you. Oh, how I hope you’re still drawing lions.
“Monsters, too.” Kyle sighs. “Respectfully, Tristan, I hope we never see each other again.”
Tristan lifts his fingers to Kyle’s face, hesitates, then gently strokes. The world turns over to darkness one last time.
27.
Somewhere.
—∙—
When Kyle wakes, he turns over in a cold, unfamiliar bed, finds a note on the pillow next to him.
He sits up, clutching it.
A brief set of instructions. He reads them. Lowers the note to his lap.
It’s really all over with.
Swept under the Persian rug.
Like a terrible dream.
It’s the bedroom of an empty suite. Not Brock’s. In a fresh outfit he doesn’t remember putting on, he slides off of the bed and moves to a nearby mirror, looks at himself. Not a speck of blood on him. He was cleaned thoroughly. And changed.
He tries not to picture what that looked like or who did it.
Kyle notices the windows are covered by obscure shutters. He stands there a moment, hears Brock’s words from earlier asking the elevator attendant about these big shutters. Is it the morning? Is it the afternoon? Is it nighttime again?
Kyle takes a jacket left for him by the door, puts it on.
He takes an umbrella and a pair of sunglasses.