Oh, hell.
He glanced out the window at the night sky, and the orange-lit Eiffel Tower glittered back.
Wesley narrowed his eyes. “Paris is not going to make me sappy and romantic,” he informed the tower, but he wrapped his arm around Sebastian anyway.
When Sebastian opened his eyes, it was dawn,the beginnings of light stretching over the rooftops of Paris. His head was still on Wesley’s chest, and he lay quiet for a moment, feeling himself breathe, moving his own fingers because he could.
Maybe the blood terrors couldn’t get past all of the building’s guardian magic.
Or maybe they couldn’t get past Wesley, whose arm was draped like a heavy anchor over Sebastian’s ribs, and whose heart beat its steady, lulling rhythm under Sebastian’s ear.
Wesley had been so confident when his hand was on Sebastian’s cock—but then tentative, when his arm was around Sebastian’s waist, like touch without sex broke one of the many tenets he used to rule himself. Maybe Wesley was as inexperienced with affection as Sebastian was with men, or maybe, like Sebastian, somewhere in the past there had been rejection and pain. He hadn’t let go of Sebastian in sleep, like he wanted the moment to last, because as hard a man as Wesley claimed to be, he was hardest on himself, and maybe he’d forbidden himself from having the softer things he wanted.
But maybe they could start anew together. Wesley had his own demons, but Sebastian had meant it when he said they didn’t scare him. Wesley was trying, and his bravery made Sebastian want to be brave too. Maybe Sebastian would never be the same person he was before blood magic, but maybe no one was ever the exact same person they were yesterday and it didn’t make him weak to need to heal. Maybe Wesley was right, and he wasn’t fractured but battle scarred. Maybe grace could be stronger than shame; maybe he could have a complicated past but still deserve a happy future.
Maybe Wesley would want to be part of that future.
Sebastian winced. Always with the too-soft feelings, and worse now, because he’d never felt quite this soft for someone else before. It was too soon to ask Wesley something like that. Barcelona first, and as quickly as possible.
He slipped out of the bed, leaving Wesley asleep. In the parlor, the glass doors to the terrace were open, letting in the cool breeze and morning light, framing the view of the Eiffel Tower rising up out of the clustered city.
Isabel had taken the chaise while Mateo was asleep on the settee. It stirred memories of their childhood, fighting over the hammock on the rooftop patio in San Juan, Sebastian always bigger but always the one to give in and let Mateo share it with him.
But even in sleep, Mateo was far too pale. His breaths seemed too shallow, and despite the cool room, his skin was shiny with sweat. Was he seeing the future again?
I saw you in fire. Alone, surrounded by flames. There was no escape.
Sebastian wrapped his hand around the lion. It shouldn’t be possible for Mateo to see Sebastian’s future.
But Mateo had seemed so certain it wasn’t a dream.
Still, dream or vision, what mattered right now wasn’t Sebastian’s own future but getting Mateo out of the futures that kept pulling him back in. Isabel was right that they should head to her home, and they needed tickets for the soonest train they could catch to Barcelona. Their building was full of generations-old guardian magic; he could get the concierge to help with the tickets without having to leave.
Sebastian left a quick note on the dining table so the others would know where he’d gone and then took the elevator down to the first floor. The concierge desk was empty, but Sebastian approached anyway. Behind the desk was an open door, although no one was directly visible.
“Bonjour?” he called, hoping someone could hear him.
“Je suis au bureau,” came the muffled reply, from within the open door. “Entrez.”
Sebastian hesitated, but the concierge had said he was in the office and to come in. He came around the desk and stepped in through the open door, and found himself in a short hall with two doors. The second door was open and the room was occupied, but the man had his back to Sebastian, bent over an open filing cabinet.
Sebastian cleared his throat. Reading French was one thing, speaking it was another, but he’d do his best. “Pouvez-vous m’aider à réserver un billet de train...”
But as he spoke, his gaze fell to the floor, to the shriveled, unmoving body in a black suit, and the words died in his throat.
The concierge straightened and turned around. “No trains today, I’m afraid.”
Sebastian’s stomach dropped. “Jack?”
Jack Mercier held up a hand, already burning. “It’s too late to save the asshole on the floor. So don’t try any heroics, or the whole building goes up in flames.”
How did he get in? How did he find their building? Sebastian reached for his magic, the now-familiar bone ache of drawing too deep—
Someone clapped a cloth over his nose and mouth from behind, and a sticky-sweet scent filled his nostrils. “I have been waiting an infuriatingly long time for the right de Leon,” a smooth British accent said.
Sebastian lashed out with what magic he had but the scent remained. He was forced to draw a breath, and then the world went dark.
Chapter Fifteen
