Deep Deliverance: The Deep Series, Book 3 (2 page)

Apparently the world was full of people who enjoyed the pleasure the undead could give. Often they wanted more. Adin and Donte declined sexual relations with those humans but traded gratification for food. Adin smiled as Donte returned from the door, expecting their usual young man to follow him in.

Donte’s good mood had seriously deteriorated.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, as a man strode in behind Donte. Adin stood. Their guest wasn’t unfamiliar, just unexpected. “Sean?”

Bran muttered, “Uh-oh. I’ve seen you before.”

Sean entered the tiny living room. He stood next to Donte as if he’d been placed there simply for comparison. He was pale and had the bluest eyes—the most memorable eyes except for Donte’s brown ones. Red hair tumbled to his shoulders in thick waves. He wore a broken-in leather jacket and weathered jeans and held a motorcycle helmet under his arm. His T-shirt read, “Feck you, I’m Irish.”

“What on earth are you doing here?” Adin asked.

“Santos sent me. He said now that your Boaz has done a runner, you and Donte needed looking after.” He followed this up with a cheeky grin that was really only scant millimeters short of a leer. “I’m out of a job, temporarily, and you’re out of a butler. Kismet.”

Donte folded his arms across his broad chest. “Over my dead body.”

Sean shot him a sly look. “It’s settled then.”

“How can you replace Boaz?” Adin raised his eyebrows. “You’re not going to be any more useful for things that require attention during the daylight hours than we are.”

“Now, now.” Sean cocked his head to the side a little. “I find there’s little I can’t do once I set my mind to it.”

“I see.”

Donte bristled again, because
there it was
. That flirtatious invitation Adin remembered from the first time he’d met the Irish vampire. There was nothing in the world that could make Adin want any man but Donte, but Sean would be trying to tempt him all the damn time, even if he didn’t want Adin, even if the reason was simple vampire gamesmanship. Sean was attractive too. There had been that one time when Donte had left Adin—or so he’d believed—and he’d considered taking Sean up on his invitation to call.

But after everything that had happened? No. Now, there was no way.

Still…

Dark and angry was Adin’s favorite look on Donte. Focused and lethal instead of brooding. An off-balance Donte was never, ever boring, and they had a long, long time together ahead of them.

Adin smiled sweetly at Sean and asked him, “How are you at mending clothes?”

Chapt
er Two

Most afternoons, Donte immersed himself in his new favorite pastime—digging handfuls of loamy soil out of a large bucket in order to pot the seedlings he’d nurtured in ice cube trays. He’d taken to spending time with the fragrant herbs and bright flowers in the greenhouse more by accident than design. Adin seemed to need time alone and Donte enjoyed the scent of growing things. The greenhouse had provided them both with what they needed, and for a bonus, Donte’d discovered a passion for gardening he’d left behind along with the monastery where he’d spent his adolescence.

He grew herbs like basil and marjoram and mint, simply for their scent. He potted African violets to brighten up the cabin. And he’d rediscovered the plant Colorado natives had won the right to grow legally—marijuana—which amused him because smoking it amused him. It made him mellow, and it made Adin silly, which was a good change given that lately they’d both had the tendency to brood.

Donte blew out a thin stream of smoke and laid his blunt in an old clay ashtray. Perhaps the heady sensation made Adin forget his anger at being turned for a moment or two.

If only it could make him leave his anger behind altogether…

The door opened and Sean called, “Here you are.”

Donte turned and eyed him suspiciously.

“All right if I come in?” At least he had the good manners to ask before entering.

“I don’t mind.” Donte eyed his rival. That’s what he was, after all, no matter how helpful he intended to be. Sending Sean was Santos’s idea of a good joke—one whose punch line Adin would probably enjoy only too well. “Did Santos send you here to take Adin from me?”

“Do you think I could?” Sean’s eyes sparkled with merriment.

“I doubt it.” Again, Donte didn’t know what to make of this interloper. He was pleasant enough. He made Adin smile. If for no other reason than that, Donte had agreed to let him stay. Donte swiveled on his stool. “But I’m supposed to give you leave to try, is that it? Santos imagines some kind of emotional love triangle?”

“I have no idea what Santos sees in his imagination, but I doubt any of us are featured prominently,” Sean admitted. “At any rate, I’m not a Trojan horse, carrying your enemy. Santos really believes you might need some help.”

“With what?”

Sean hopped up onto the bench next to the pots Donte had lined up. “You tell me. How is Adin handling his new un-life?”

Donte barely managed to hide his skepticism. “Adin is headstrong. He’s fighting it.”

“Quelle surprise.” With Sean’s Irish brogue, the words made Donte smile ruefully. “What’s he doing?”

It was a measure of Donte’s unhappiness that he admitted the problem. “He will not feed from humans, for one thing.”

Sean’s eyes widened. “Say that again?”

“He starves himself until he’s desperate and dangerous, and then he only feeds from me. Or animals.”

“Christ. Doesn’t he know how risky that is?”

“Do you imagine I haven’t warned him?” Donte raked both hands through his hair. “You’ve seen him. He’s thin. He’s too pale. He feeds only enough to keep himself walking upright.”

“If he won’t feed from humans, he won’t survive for more than a year. Have you told him that?”

“Not yet.”

“What did the council say? They have a representative in Boulder. Surely—”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet. We’ve only been here three months. I hoped he’d soften his position. I hoped to take him to meet with the council when he was acclimated.”

“You haven’t taken him?” Sean whipped his phone out to make a call, but just as quickly, Donte took it from him.

“Stop.” Donte laid the phone on the potting bench and covered it with his hand.

“Are you insane?” Sean asked. “You must be, if you haven’t informed the council you have progeny in the area. Progeny are responsible for a full three-fourths of the accidental kills in this country. By not informing them—”

“I’m handling it.”

“How?” Sean asked. “By keeping Adin isolated here and letting him feed from animals? By letting him feed from you until you’re too weak to stop him should his hunger crest when a neighbor drops by to ask after a missing cat?”

“It’s not like that. We take the squirrels. The rabbits. I feed from humans and then he feeds from me. It’s now how you think.”

Sean’s expression hardened. “You know I have to report this.”

“You offered me your help, did you not? Reporting Adin to the council will make things worse, not better. He’ll dig in. He’ll resist anything they say. He’ll take any punishment they offer.”

“But if I don’t—” Sean shook his head, “—and he harms someone…”

Donte let his head fall back. He gazed at the sky through the glass ceiling. Clouds gathered overhead. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Maybe you underestimate him.”

“He’ll be outraged.” Donte picked up a particularly pretty purple African violet just to have something to fuss with. “I know him.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Sean took the plant from him and studied it. “Tell me. Do you think you’ve made things better or worse by lying to him?”

Donte stilled. “Explain your accusation.”

“Come on, Donte. I’ve known Boaz for half a century. He doesn’t make a move without your explicit instruction. He’s never going to turn Adin unless you give the order.”

Donte’s heart sank, because there it was. The awful truth.

Or rather, that was the lie hanging over him and Adin like the sword of Damocles. If Adin found out that Donte had a hand in turning him, Adin would never speak to him again. If he didn’t leave outright, he’d never believe a word Donte said in the future.

There could be no trust between them. Not after a betrayal of that magnitude.

There would be no coming back from that.

Donte closed his eyes. “You can’t be certain.”

“Oh, please. Santos tracks your movements, your phones, your email communications. Boaz may have taken the blame, but he was in no way alone in his actions or you wouldn’t still be in touch with him, would you?”

“Fucking Santos,” Donte hissed. He picked up his blunt and took a hit with a nonchalance he no longer felt. “Is this blackmail then? I assume he means to tell Adin the truth unless I meet his demands. Tell me what he wants for his silence.”

Sean’s sigh was long and loud. “Believe it or not, I meant what I said. I came to help you.”

“How? By destroying Adin’s illusions about me once and for all? Mille grazie. I could do that all by myself.”

“I’m offering you a piece of unasked-for advice. Tell Adin the truth yourself. Tell him everything.”

“I can’t.” Donte shook his head. “How can I? He’ll despise me.”

“You loved him. You couldn’t bear to see him die,” Sean said gently. “Perhaps in time, Adin will understand that.”

“He will not understand, and I will lose him forever.”

“Yes. You might. I won’t lie. That is one possibility. Look, you’ve lived a long time, right?”

“Yes.” Donte’s throat felt raw. “I have.”

“So you’re accustomed to hiding your thoughts and emotions. You can’t let your enemies see what you value, or they’ll use it against you.”

Donte gave a tight nod. “Yes.”

“But you’re hiding your thoughts and your emotions from your lover as well. He doesn’t know the real Donte Fedeltà. He never will, unless you let him in.”

“He believes I’m a monster.”

“He doesn’t. He wouldn’t live with a monster.”

“He believes we’ve lost our humanity to gain immortality. This is why he refuses to feed. This is why he won’t—”

“But you and I know he’s wrong.” Sean laid a hand on Donte’s arm. “It’s time for you to reveal that needing to feed from humans is only part of the story.”

“I can’t. How can I, when he refuses to feed because he believes it’s monstrous?” Donte pulled away. “And have you forgotten what happens to us when we let our guard down?”

“I haven’t forgotten. But you’re forgetting something too. You’ve made him, and you must mentor him. If that means he leaves you…” Sean’s shrug was fatalistic. “Then so be it. If you really love him, you must teach him to feed. Even if you have to be cruel. Let him be angry, if that’s the only way to ensure his survival.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“First of all, stop lying about Boaz. You know he’ll find out eventually. He should find out from you.”

“And then? When he leaves me?” Donte went hot with anger. “How do I protect him then?”

“How are you protecting him now? By isolating him? Keeping him in the dark about the council? By feeding him rodents when he needs fresh human blood to survive?”

Donte glanced down, ashamed. Sean was right. He’d only been putting off the inevitable. Isolating Adin. Letting him choose how to feed. Bringing the world to him, electronically, when he should have been ensuring Adin’s survival in the world. If he had to break Adin’s heart to guarantee his survival, he’d do it. If there was no other way…

“What will you do if I don’t tell him?”

“Nothing.” Sean took the blunt from the ashtray and relit it, blowing a puff of smoke to the side before offering it back to Donte. “I told you. I’ve come to help you.”

Ch
apter Three

Adin’s accidental glimpse of Donte’s laptop changed everything.

He wasn’t spying. He’d never stoop to such a thing. But for whatever reason Donte had left his laptop open on the kitchen table while he’d gone out—maybe to take a phone call, maybe to take a walk, and Adin had seen the truth for himself.

Donte had been in regular contact with Boaz—who had betrayed them both—for months. They’d conspired. They’d talked about him behind his back and…

He closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear the thought of the two of them, laughing at him. Pretending to be enemies while they worked out a way to get Boaz off Adin’s shit list.

Their messages looked cordial, if not downright goddamn friendly.

Despite making the best of a bad situation, the anxiety of the days since he’d been turned, the uncertainty and the boredom and privation were like a long, hot fuse. When Adin saw the evidence of Donte’s duplicity, his heart exploded like a well-packed car bomb.

How could Donte do that to him? How could he smile at him, fuck him, murmur endearments in the afterglow, all the while knowing such a betrayal would destroy him?

How could Donte keep up this pretense, this farcical sham of a romance, when he’d been so goddamn selfish?

How did Donte dare even
look
at him after what he’d done?

Wild with anger, Adin glanced around their kitchen. He didn’t know if he wanted a whiskey or a weapon. The back door opened and Donte stepped through it.

“You bastard.” Adin turned to him, shaking with rage. “You fucking bastard.”

“What?” Donte didn’t flinch, of course. He wouldn’t. He’d had centuries to perfect the mask he wore to hide his thoughts. “Explain what you believe I’ve done, please.”

Speechless, Adin simply turned the laptop around, exposing the string of emails between Boaz and Donte, exposing the lie that Boaz was out of their lives, that Donte’d punished him, banished him for destroying Adin’s life.

“Are you asking me if I’m in touch with Boaz?” Donte asked coolly.

“I don’t have to ask. I can see the facts for myself.”

“And what conclusions have you drawn?”

“This conclusion.” Adin picked up Donte’s laptop and hurled it at him. Donte ducked his throw just in time. The computer shattered to bits against the wall. “Boaz never stopped working for you, did he?”

Donte hesitated a little too long before saying, “No.”

“You
lied
to me. You don’t even deny it. Did you and Boaz plan this whole thing together?”

“
Plan
is too strong a word.”

“You disregarded everything I ever said.” Adin advanced on him. “You took in every intimate, personal detail I shared with you and you
still
had him turn me. Now you’re just biding your time until you can reintroduce him into our lives.”

Donte, who’d remained impassive as Adin railed at him, sat heavily on one of the rustic kitchen chairs. He leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees. “Sit down.”

“No.” Adin stood over him, still breathing heavily.

Donte lifted his gaze. “What you ask… It’s not that simple.”

“I told you from my heart I didn’t want this. I trusted you enough to bare my soul to you and—”

“For God’s sake, Adin. I nearly killed you. Have you forgotten that already? I lost control and nearly exsanguinated you and while I was draining the life from you—” Donte’s voice broke. He closed his eyes as though he couldn’t bear the memory. As though he was seeing it again and it sickened him. “This isn’t only about you.”

“What you did—losing control—was an accident.”

“Of course it was. I was out of my mind with hunger. But I held you and harmed you without giving who you were a second thought. And you wept. I couldn’t let an accident end your life. How could you expect me to live with the consequences of that?”

Adin glowered at him, eyes narrowed, brows drawn tight with remembered pain. “Right. Back.
Atcha
.”

“I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Brown eyes implored him for understanding.

“You accused Santos. You acted so—” Adin couldn’t let Donte’s obvious remorse or his placating words derail his anger. Donte’d gone after Santos, accused
him
of the deed… “Why lie to me? You’ve been lying to me for
months
.”

“I know.” Donte let his head fall into his hands. “Every time I think about telling you the truth, this is what I picture. You’re outraged, and you have every right to be. But what’s done is done.”

“Am I a broken egg?” Adin thudded his chest with fisted hands. “Am I spilled milk? You
ruined my life
. Everything I cared about is gone, because of you.”

“No, Adin. I’ve tried to tell you. Things are different now, but—”

“I can’t talk to you.” Adin pulled away from him. “I don’t even want to see you.”

“You have no choice. You have nowhere to go.”

“I always have a choice.” Adin strode out of their cozy cabin and into the sun, and stopped, stricken by how wrong he was. The sun made him sick. He didn’t burst in to flames, like in the old horror movies, but the sun’s rays depleted something inside him. A few minutes weren’t fatal. But prolonged exposure weakened him, made him delirious, as if he had the worst case of sunstroke imaginable. He’d be forced to feed as Donte had done, without conscience, without regard for human life. His body wouldn’t let him starve, so he’d surely kill to keep himself alive.

“Come back inside before you grow too weak to move.”

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll drag you back here and feed you before you go feral.”

“Until next time.”

Donte stood in the shade of their porch, unyielding. “Yes. Until the next time, and the next. Until you get lucky or I become careless, and you manage to undo whatever good I’ve done by keeping you alive. You cannot destroy yourself—your vampire won’t allow itself to starve. It will feed until it heals, and likely it will kill everyone it feeds on until it is satisfied. You must not take that chance. You put others in danger.”

“That’s not alive, Donte,” Adin said bitterly. “Undead is not the same as alive.”

“I’m not going to debate this with you while you’re standing in the sun. Come in now, or I’ll simply wait and find you and fix things.”

“God damn you.” Adin’s feet pounded the wooden porch steps. The whole structure shuddered as he stomped angrily back inside. “Don’t talk to me.”

“As you like.”

Adin marched into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

God damn you, Donte. God damn you.

From the other side of the door, he heard footsteps. Hesitation. More footsteps. “It didn’t happen the way you think it did.”

Adin didn’t reply. He sat like a statue, wishing he could see his face in the mirror. It was a face he was sure he’d no longer recognize, not because it was different, but because he knew what lived behind it: hunger and despair, two frames of mind in a primitive rinse-and-repeat, ad nauseam, forever.

And he’d loved Donte. He’d clung to him. He’d begged Donte to help him make sense of the world in which he now found himself. Had begged him to stay by his side.

What a joke.

“I never gave an explicit order.” Donte’s words were soft, his tone beseeching. “I never asked him to turn you in so many words.”

“Of course not. You’re Count Nicolo Sciarello di fucking Chocula. You merely said, ‘I have a problem,’ and let someone else solve it for you.”

“Niccolo Sciarello di fucking Pietro.”

“You lied to me for months.” Adin could no longer cry. Or maybe he could, but he was too numb with shock to build up a head of steam for it.

“The result is the same. We are what we are.”

Adin’s arms seemed too heavy to lift. “I should hate you for this.”

“Yes, you should hate me. For this and for other things. Now and in the future, there will always be things to hate me for.”

“You were the only one besides my parents who never lied to me about something important.”

“You’re deeply disappointed.”

“And outraged and angry and hurt.”

“I’m so sorry.” The sound of a forehead, hitting the door over and over. “So, very,”
thud
, “very,”
thud
, “sorry.”

“You’re also the only one I can turn to for comfort and I need comfort.” Adin willed himself to stay seated. To hold on to his anger. “How fucked up is that?”

The door opened a couple of inches. Adin saw Donte’s eye peek through. “Very fucked up.”

“I will never forgive you for this.”

“I don’t suppose you will.”

Adin closed his eyes. “I’m hungry again.”

“So soon?” Donte opened the door the rest of the way and came inside the room. He sat on the bed, opposite Adin. Carefully avoided his space. “Caro, what we’ve been doing isn’t working.”

“It could just be because I was in the sun, right? I’ll have to feed more often if I go out in the daylight. You said—”

“I said you could subsist on small animals if you must. I didn’t say you should do it as a matter of course. You need to learn to feed properly. From humans.”

“No.”

“You feed from me after I’ve fed from humans. How is that different?”

“It just is, all right?” Adin balled his fists. “No humans. I can’t feed directly from humans. We talked about this.”

“Yes, but your hunger will grow and grow and you’ll eventually feed on whatever you find. Human or animal.”

“I feed enough to take the edge off. It’s worked so far.”

“My God, you’re stubborn.” Donte went to the window and looked out. “You must get over feeling sorry for yourself and do something with your time.”

“I—” Adin sputtered. “You think I’m feeling sorry for myself?”

“Look out this window, Adin.” Donte swept the curtain aside. “The same world exists outside as existed before you were turned. All its problems still exist. You have endless time. Immense resources. What are you going to do with them?”

“In case you’ve forgotten—” Adin shot to his feet, “—I also have this teeny tiny little drinking problem.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. How is that different from a hemophiliac, who requires a transfusion? How is that different from needing an organ donation? We give our donors pure pleasure. That’s a fair trade for what we take.”

“No.”

Donte threw himself back onto the bed. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a goddamn liar.”

“You need to ask yourself this: What good comes from sitting here complaining?”

Adin turned away, too angry still to reply. Instead of leaving him alone, Donte stayed where he was. Sharing the space. Sharing the silence. That made Adin angrier still. How dare Donte sit there as if he’d done nothing wrong? How dare he lie there, earnest and brooding and sexy and…

How dare he loll around on their bed—
their bed
—after a betrayal of such magnitude?

Donte ignored his mounting ire, although he must have sensed it. Adin’s heart rocketed around in his chest, his breathing heavy. Rage made him ball his fists.

“Relax. Breathe,” Donte suggested. “Your hunger is driving you. Tell me what you hear.”

Adin explored his senses. Sean was there, of course. Somewhere. He’d gone for a walk, sensing rightly the trouble that was brewing between Adin and Donte.

There weren’t many humans around for miles. Their neighbors were few, and some only used their cabins on weekends and holidays. He and Donte might not see anyone for days at a time.

There were two…no three people somewhere. Inside their cabins or cottages. One was running water. Doing dishes? Bathing? Another baked cookies. He could smell them. Vanilla and cinnamon.
Snickerdoodles
, his mother had called them. How long before he forgot what that crisp, slightly sweet cookie tasted like entirely?

How long before he gave in to his hunger and attacked one of his neighbors?

No.

He’d never go near them. He only had to feed on the occasional animal to keep from starvation. He only had to take enough to keep others safe.

There were animals everywhere, and they made his mouth water. They were flying, scurrying, burrowing, nesting, grazing, and stalking. There was even a bear or two. They’d heard one digging through the Dumpster behind a local restaurant—smelled its powerful scent.

Adin fell onto their bed, on his back, beside Donte. His teeth hurt. His belly was hollow. His skin crawled, too tight to contain the beast inside him. “Oh God, Donte. I can’t bear this.”

Without a word, Donte opened a small vein in his arm. He’d no sooner done it than Adin was scrambling over him to get to the life-giving blood that welled from his wound.

It was disgusting. It was necessary. It was everything in that moment when Adin had nothing else.

No lover. No life. No family. No faith.

Blood was the only thing that mattered.

Blood and self-pity and making Donte pay.