Rare Vigilance by M.A. Grant

Chapter Nine

As she’d promised, Bea called him that afternoon, shortly after he’d gotten home from his meeting with Jasper.

“So, you aren’t quitting?” she asked him for the fifth time. Apparently, she didn’t trust his lack of fight.

“I’ve thought it over and want to talk it out with Decebal. I’m sure he’ll understand that I spoke before I could process what had happened.”

“I’m sure he will,” Bea agreed. “He’s called my office several times, asking to talk to you. I don’t know exactly what you did, but he definitely doesn’t want you to quit.”

I surprised him, Atlas thought. I’m sure an ancient creature isn’t surprised often. And I know his secret now, which means he needs to do some kind of damage control. Out loud, he said, “I guess I’ll find out tonight.”

Rather than hang up as he assumed she’d do on a busy afternoon, Bea stuck around on the line. After a little while, she asked, “Atlas, are you absolutely sure about this? Last night you were adamant that this contract, that anything related to Decebal was dangerous. You matter most to me. I’d hate to lose work with him, especially after how difficult it was to get that work in the first place, but if it would keep you—”

Stable. Sane.

“—safer than you are now, I promise I’ll consider it.”

Her concern left his chest tight. He swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. No matter what had happened in their lives, no matter how bad things got, Bea always put him first. When their grandmother had been forced to move into assisted living, he asked Bea if they would be put in foster care and separated. Bea told him she didn’t know, but she’d make sure it wouldn’t happen. It hadn’t. His senior year of high school when he’d asked her what she thought of him enlisting, she’d told him it would be a huge fucking mistake, but she’d support him if it was what he wanted. She sent him so many stupid care packages, some of his buddies had tried to get him to set her up with them. When he’d woken up in the hospital and found her next to his bed, he’d asked her if he was crazy. She took his hand, squeezed, and answered, “No, Atlas, you’re not crazy. And we’ll figure this out together.” She’d never gone back on that. She’d hired him on, knowing there was a risk he wouldn’t be able to cut it. She’d forced him to accept financial help when he couldn’t get his feet under him. She checked in on him regularly.

Now, she was offering to undo her professional success, all for his sake. It couldn’t have been an easy decision for her to make, even harder to offer aloud to him. The cowardly part of him still wanted to take her up on it and keep her as far away from Decebal and his ilk as possible. Atlas had always hated being a coward.

“Bea, I appreciate the gesture. Really, I do. And I know I scared the hell out of you this morning.”

She murmured her agreement.

He continued, “I took your advice and ate and slept and I’ve got my head on a little better. So let me see how this meeting with Decebal goes before you do anything you might regret.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But only if you call me after you talk to him.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“I love you, Atlas. Be careful with yourself.”

“I will. Love you too.” He hung up, even surer of the decision made outside Pullman Roasters.

The paperwork he’d reviewed—details of Decebal’s business dealings, his expansion over the years, and the looming threat of the power he’d hold over the region if he was allowed to continue unchecked—proved Jasper’s employer had done more than her fair share of due diligence. Her goal of removing Decebal’s threat was backed by time, money, and impressive resources at her disposal. Joining forces with them wasn’t jumping in with a crackpot team of podcasters hoping to break a supernatural story. This wouldn’t be a scattershot approach. This was a surgeon’s scalpel, and Atlas could get behind such precise work. Especially since it would secure Bea’s safety without asking her to give up anything else for his sake.

Now he just had to ensure he could return to Decebal’s employ.

The drive to the house hadn’t changed. Logically, Atlas knew that. It was the same paved road, the same sturdy trees, the same gate that opened for him when he typed in his code. But approaching the house and parking in his usual spot, knowing what kind of monsters were waiting for him inside, was different.

He leaned forward and looked out his windshield, seeing the grandeur again for the first time with his new eyes. He couldn’t look at the beautiful architecture without wondering how many bones the foundation was built on. Every grandiose detail, every opulent choice, was soaked in blood. As much as he wanted to judge Decebal and all the vampires living here and working for him, Atlas couldn’t. His own hands were stained in the same blood. Sure, he may not have known that at first, but he was here now, prepared to accept continued employment and payment from the creatures who had destroyed his life and killed his platoon. To accept that he was finally as lost and desperate as he’d feared becoming after his discharge. At least this time it was his choice.

He left his car and found Helias waiting for him at the front door. The consilier watched him warily, making sure to keep his distance, even as he tipped his head and said, “Welcome back, Mr. Kinkaid. Mr. Vladislavic is waiting for you in his study.”

“And Cri—Mr. Slava?”

“He’s there as well,” Helias assured him and led him inside.

A funeral pall hung over the place. No familiar faces moved past him. No laughter or jokes came from the billiards room. Every door was shut. The only noise was the echoing click of his shoes over the tiles on his way to the stairs. He put his hand on the polished wood railing of the staircase, prepared to ascend to the study, when Helias cleared his throat. Atlas glanced back.

Helias remained near the front door, his hands crossed in front of him. The distance between them seemed vast, unless someone considered the speed with which Helias could have closed it and ripped out Atlas’s neck. With that knowledge, the length of the hall was comically short. Nevertheless, Atlas had to admire Helias’s gesture. The man wasn’t pretending for him. He was simply doing his best to put Atlas at ease, even though he knew it was an impossibility.

“I am pleased to see you looking so well,” Helias said, pitching his voice a little louder to carry down the hall. “Please know our doctors are available to you if anything changes.”

Atlas nodded and took a steadying breath before continuing his climb. Decebal’s study door at the end of the narrow hall stood open for the first time since Atlas had started the contract. Probably to warn them of his approach. When he reached the threshold though, he discovered it was for another reason entirely.

“Mr. Kinkaid,” Decebal said.

He sat at his desk, his hands pressed flat against the smooth surface. Cristian was there as well, sitting perfectly still in one of the wooden chairs dragged near the window. Their careful positioning left the majority of the room open, and gave Atlas a clear path between the door and a comfortable chair set out for him near the desk.

He entered the room and started to close the door behind him, but Decebal waved it off. “Please,” he said, brow crinkling, “leave it open.”

“I don’t mind—” Atlas began, only to be interrupted by Cristian, who said bluntly, “Yes, you do. You’ll feel better if you have an escape route.”

The statement sucked the air from the room. Atlas gave a jerky nod and stood behind the chair, keeping it between him and the vampires. Neither seemed offended by his choice. Hell, Cristian could have been a statue for all he was moving.

Decebal cleared his throat, drawing Atlas’s attention. “I wanted to thank you for saving my son.”

“It’s what you pay me to do, sir.”

“No, Mr. Kinkaid. I pay you to prevent my son’s kidnapping. I did not pay you to take on a rogue vampire. I did not pay you to defend my son with your own life. And I did not pay you to act as an emergency donor, a sacrifice which kept him alive.”

Atlas braced for Cristian to share the truth: that his first reaction was to sit back and watch Cristian die, to welcome the loss of a vampire from the world. But Cristian didn’t speak. He sat there in the silvery moonlight with a faint flush risen to his cheeks, watching Atlas, and letting his father talk instead.

“You have proved yourself a singular man,” Decebal went on. “I kept information from you, lied to you, in the hopes it would keep my family safer. Our territorial disputes were never supposed to touch you. I assumed no one would dare break the laws governing our kind. I see now that was a naive hope.”

“Is that what happened last night?” Atlas asked. “It was a territorial dispute?”

“I believe so. You may be aware of what we are now, Mr. Kinkaid, but you have little understanding of the complexities of our world. There are many vampiric families, and as many attitudes about our relationship with humans. I recognize the best traits you have to offer and believe we can learn from you and work with you. The Wharrams, my wife’s family, are much more...traditional. They treat humans as cattle for the most part, though they consider some useful enough to tie into servitude. My wife escaped that life and had no desire to see her son poisoned by it. It was her last wish. Her family did not take kindly to the reality that Cristian would be raised with her progressive view. And they have taken even deeper offense to the fact that my territory thrives because of the human partnerships I have cultivated.”

“The men who were killed at Hahn Lake... You believe the Wharrams were responsible for their deaths?” Atlas guessed.

“I do.” Decebal tapped his fingers against the desk, but didn’t remove his hands. It was definitely a conscious effort and attempt to show his peacefulness. “It was a message meant for me. They did not know I was sending Cristian in my stead. If not for your quick thinking, they would have walked away with an unexpected prize, one I would be unable to reclaim on my own.”

It was a painful admission. Here in Scarsdale, Decebal’s reign was unopposed, but beyond this place, beyond whatever territory he held, he was facing true challengers. Maybe that was why Jasper’s employer was preparing to move against him now. If Decebal was distracted by the threat posed from the Wharrams, it would be a perfect time to strike.

Decebal didn’t know the riot of thoughts running through Atlas’s mind, but he did read Atlas’s thoughtfulness. “You acted courageously. I will not forget your loyalty to me or my family. I wish for you to stay on with us, but needed to give you the truth before asking you to make such a decision.”

“I appreciate your candor,” Atlas said, digging his fingers into the back of the chair, “but I don’t know if I have much of a choice to make.”

“Pardon me?”

The embroidery on the chair was made of delicate stitches in silky threads. Only handmade pieces exhibited that level of mastery. Such wealth beneath his fingertips, and Decebal probably didn’t even notice it. Atlas traced the edge of a floral design and asked, “Isn’t this the part where you tell me I can either continue working for you, or I refuse and become a meal?”

Decebal stared at him, aghast. Atlas refused to be cowed, despite his crass question. His stubborn honesty must have come across because Decebal glanced to Cristian, only to find his son still watching in silent contemplation.

Atlas took pleasure in knowing he had truly shocked Decebal. The man looked down at his hands on the desk and muttered something in Romanian. Cristian’s response to his father was short, cutting, and whatever it was, it dug in under Decebal’s skin. He exploded into a furious lecture, similar to what Atlas had heard his first night in the house. His words didn’t get a rise from his son though. Cristian let it wash over him, around him, and never once shifted his attention to his father. After a moment, the words ran dry and Decebal slumped deeper into his chair.

He cleared his throat. “I apologize. My son informs me you are deadly serious.” He lifted his chin and the stern businessman returned, making Atlas straighten on instinct. “Choice, Mr. Kinkaid, is the cornerstone of my world. Without it, there is nothing. No family, no loyalty, no respect. Yes, I wish to retain your services, but I will not force you into it.” His flash of a smile came out as more of a grimace. “You are an intelligent man who I do not need to threaten into silence.”

No, he really didn’t. Atlas was perfectly aware of the threat Decebal posed to him. Worse, of the threat posed to Bea. “No, sir,” Atlas agreed. “I understand you clearly.”

“And I thought only you and I had that special relationship,” Cristian commented.

It was the kind of quip Atlas had gotten used to hearing and he looked to Cristian with the start of a smile. The flash of connection when he met Cristian’s gaze brought back a rush of memories from the previous night, and he suddenly remembered where he was, what Cristian was, and forced his expression back to neutral. Cristian noticed and shut his mouth again, a statue once more.

It was too late to hide their interaction from Decebal, who inspected his son again, carefully this time, before glancing back at Atlas. “My son wished to speak with you as well. I will give you both some time.”

He rose slowly, ensuring Atlas had time to move away from his chair if he wished it. He didn’t. At least, he tried not to, but the closer Decebal came, the harder it was to ignore the anxiety crawling along his nerves, tightening his muscles in anticipation. Decebal was nearly even with his chair when Atlas had to capitulate to his instincts and take three steps to the side, keeping the chair between their bodies.

Decebal showed no sign of offense. If anything, his nod as he passed was respectful. Atlas listened to him walk down the hallway. Once he was on the stairs, Atlas unclenched his jaw and started to close the door.

“You don’t have to,” Cristian said.

“I know,” Atlas replied. The latch slid into place with a click too soft for the momentous shift of tension in the room. “I’m not afraid to be alone with you.”

Cristian rested his head against the back of his chair, his doubts clear.

“I saw you fight,” Atlas said, “and I know I could take you.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Your father, not so much.”

Cristian laughed. His eyes widened in surprise when he realized what he’d done and he cut himself off a second later, returning them to awkward silence. Atlas broke it first, unwilling to let Cristian control the tenor of the meeting. “What did you want to talk about?”

“You were terrified.”

Atlas clamped his mouth shut and waited, unwilling to confirm Cristian’s observation. He’d already bared too much to him before.

“I didn’t realize that when I started to feed. Once I saw what you’d been through—”

“Have you told anyone?” It pushed out in a rush, and the moment the question hung between them, Atlas regretted it. He didn’t want Cristian to know how much his answer mattered.

“No,” Cristian whispered, horrified. “No, no... Atlas, I wouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Atlas asked. Cristian was never this contrite, and his kindness grated against Atlas’s already raw nerves. “It’s something else you could hold over my head. Another story about me to laugh over with your friends.”

“I don’t laugh about you—”

“Really?”

Cristian couldn’t hold his gaze. “Maybe I acted poorly before, but...” Atlas’s derisive snort interrupted his train of thought. “I just...”

He tried to rally, but whatever he saw in Atlas’s expression must have been too much. He trailed off again and looked away.

Atlas was beginning to suspect he did it when he couldn’t string his thoughts together fast enough to keep up with that silver tongue of his. What experiences had taught him it was better to shut up and think though, rather than to continue on in the vain hope of sounding confident or smart?

Cristian took a breath and promised, “I just wanted you to know I wouldn’t take you for granted.”

It was a vow made from guilt, and one Atlas hadn’t expected. He’d already decided he would return to Decebal’s employ for the chance to take back even a bit of the security and peace that had been stolen from him. He’d expected his humanity would make it harder to gather intelligence from the vampiric world. Instead, Decebal and Cristian both seemed determined to return Atlas’s desperate act with their loyalty. Allowing him into their inner circle, trusting him, would give him access to valuable information. And if Decebal was indeed under threat from other vampires, perhaps Jasper’s employer could use that information to clean up Scarsdale once and for all.

Monsters had taken from him. Perhaps it was time for him to take a little of his own back.

“Careful, Mr. Slava,” he said. “Someone might think you were admitting you’d behaved badly in the past.”

Cristian’s head jerked up. He searched Atlas’s expression, confusion furrowing his brow, until it clicked. His sigh was so deep his shoulders shifted and the buttons of his shirt strained from the expansion of his chest. “I never behave badly, Mr. Kinkaid,” he lied.

“Of course not.”

Atlas turned and started for the door. Movement behind him, enough to make his shoulders tense, but not enough to send him into a full-on panic. He’d meant it when he said he wasn’t afraid of Cristian. Wary. Hesitant. Realistic. But not afraid.

“Wait,” Cristian called. “Are you coming back?”

He lifted a hand over his shoulder in an approximation of a wave, just as Cristian had done when he walked away from their first, anonymous meeting. “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Slava.”