Page 7 of Bound By Blood and Bone

The soldiers descended, did a sweep, and rooted out the last of the revenants and burned the remains as instructed by Atticus. He kept his eyes on Wyatt throughout, and his attention had an edge to it that Wyatt could feel. He noticed that Atticus' scent was sharpening as well.

The town was set; Atticus had prepared the rites, and the charms and enchantments were placed along with a boundary spell that trapped it within the town. It could not run or attempt to flee to neighboring communities once the ritual began. Wyatt's injury was healed, but he kept the silk handkerchief where it was and held its softness in his grip.

They made their way back to the Palace with Atticus remaining closer to him. Their proximity had shrunk to less than a foot apart. It felt natural to Wyatt to have him close, and it was a struggle to resist reaching out and taking his hand.

Once they were back in the car, Wyatt sent a report to Silas outlining the activities of the Necromancer and his intent, along with the timeline Atticus had described. He also told him of Atticus' belief that there was something controlling the revenants and, in turn, would control the blight. That information did not go down well, which was expected.

“Was the attack in the cemetery a targeted attack?” Wyatt asked as they made their way back to the Palace.

"I believe so, yes," Atticus responded. "It was testing me. My presence has confused it, and it's trying to get a read on my abilities."

"Does that change anything that you have in place, anything that is already planned?"

"No, but once the blight has been destroyed, the force controlling it will also need to be neutered; otherwise, it could give rise to the blight once again."

"We need to find out what it is," Wyatt responded, and Atticus nodded.

The night would be guarded as before, with extra protection surrounding the Palace. Master DuCane feared for his beloved and all the other human and half-human beloveds. They were in danger, and with the boundary spells, the evil may attempt to infiltrate the coven lands. When Wyatt mentioned the worry to Atticus, he shook his head and turned to regard him directly and laid his hand once again on Wyatt's forearm as before.

"There is nothing for the residents of the Palace to fear." He began. "The evil which has infected the town will not come here tonight. I am the Necromancer of Cultus Mortis; nothing spawned from the loathsome dead will come near me and therefore will not enter the Palace." He was casual and clear as always, as if he were repeating something that was common knowledge. Wyatt sent that information to Silas, knowing that it would be a relief for many.

Wyatt watched his beloved Necromancer and realized as the hours passed that he would not be able to walk away. He should say it; he should tell him rather than pretend distance and ignore what he was feeling. Atticus was aware of there being something between them. He made vague statements throughout the course of the day but had not spoken out directly. Wyatt remained by the door waiting and wondering why he was being such a coward.

The connection, in his mind and body, was growing, and his vampire was scratching at his consciousness, seeking release. Atticus, such a fine and proper man, such a powerful mystic, such a beautiful man, belonged to him, and he would not be able to deny that fact, and yet he remained silent and rooted to the spot.

He didn't know how he would broach the subject, but before their time together ended, he would make himself clear; he swore he would make himself clear. With that thought settled, he was able to relax somewhat. His skin was still tight, and his breathing sometimes stilted, but he was managing.

CHAPTER FOUR

Atticus had sat in the backseat beside Wyatt on the return to the Palace, and every instinct in his body begged him to move closer to touch the handsome vampire and to learn all he could about the man. He'd known there was something unique about the man, something that set him apart from every other man he'd ever met, but he hadn't put a name to it until Wyatt had shed blood for him.

The moment the scent of his blood hit the air in that cemetery, it was like a shining beacon. The chances of a thing like this happening to a Necromancer of his level were a million to one, but apparently, he had hit the jackpot. He was the vampire's beloved; it was unlikely that the man was not aware of that fact, and Atticus did not know what to make of that information. Wyatt would have known it almost immediately upon meeting Atticus, and yet he made no move and no mention.

They had entered the Palace from the rear entrance, a beautiful wide terrace that echoed the palatial splendor of the original Versailles. The Watchtower room was on the upper floor and was visible from the terrace. It was a very good imitation of an old tower room, and Atticus found it comfortable; he assumed Louis gave it to him for that purpose, and he appreciated his attention to detail.

Wyatt walked at his side, eyes straight ahead. He'd fought for him, but that was his duty, and apart from the few touches, there was no overt indication that he felt anything at all. Atticus was too old to play games, but was he prepared for a denial, a refusal? He was not what anyone would dream of for their beloved. He wasn't soft, quiet, gentle, easy like so many of the matches that he had observed over the years.

Wyatt was carrying some demons of his own, and it could prove devastating to take on the energies, the limitations, and the strangeness of a person like himself. It would be best if he followed his initial plan and let this job be his last. His soul was too old, too out of touch, and too steeped in darkness and the macabre to ever be able to establish an adequate bond with anyone.

It was time for him to move on like his brothers. It was a morbid thought, but his services were becoming outdated, and his presence was becoming redundant. Leaving this plane would free Wyatt to pursue another.

Wyatt was better off keeping his distance, even though Atticus could feel the pull in every corner of his being, and whatever he was feeling, the vampire had to be feeling more. Vampires were physiologically tuned to react to their beloved, and yet he showed nothing.

Wyatt had a rigid air to him, indicating he was keeping all his feelings under wraps. Atticus considered saying something when they returned to the room in the tower, but he decided against it because he didn't want their final hours together to be awkward.

Atticus walked back over to the window and stood looking out. He heard Wyatt return to his position by the front of the door. Atticus lowered his head and breathed in the atmosphere of the room and closed his eyes. The embers and ash filled him, and he stilled his thoughts, carefully controlling his reactions.

“Would you like for me to order you dinner?” Wyatt’s voice broke the heavy silence. Atticus shook his head.

"No, thank you, but feel free to order for yourself if you'd like." Atticus did not turn around.

"I'm fine." He said, and silence fell over them again. The easiness of their time together while walking through Mt. Pleasant had disappeared, and the stilted, wooden manner of their interaction had returned. It was a pity, but as it should be, he supposed.

"I'm going to lie down," Atticus stated and turned toward the bedroom off to his left. It was a lovely and elegant space with a large bed with just the right mixture of fabrics, woods, and color that made it look both solid and comfortable. He figured there was time to relax and meditate for a few hours before morning began the final phases of the purification rite.

Everything was in place and spells had been cast, and his power as the Necromancer would settle into every corner of Mt. Pleasant. The blight and the lesser forms would have nowhere to hide. He'd taken two steps toward the bedroom when Wyatt spoke up.

"You should have something to eat before going to bed." He rushed out the statement as if he had a stake in the matter. Atticus paused and looked back at him over his left shoulder. "You haven't eaten since that small lunch; you need to keep up your strength." There was more here than dinner, but Atticus could not discern what it was.