Reluctant Partnerships (31 page)

Martin agreed and followed Denis to his car, a little two-door Peugeot that barely looked big enough to hold four people. Then again, Martin wondered how often Denis had even a single passenger, much less three. Martin waited until they were out of Autun on the country roads before beginning a conversation. “So did you have something you wanted to do tonight?”

“Nothing in particular,” Denis replied. “I imagine you’ll want dinner. There are a couple of outstanding restaurants in Dijon and a plethora of good ones, so we have our choice depending on how much time and money we want to spend there. There are also several movie theaters and quite a few clubs or cafés where we could enjoy each other’s company.”

“I have no idea what’s showing as far as movies go,” Martin said, “and honestly I’d rather spend the time being with you than watching a movie screen. Other than seeing if we have the same tastes in film, I don’t see how sitting in a dark theater for three hours helps us get better acquainted.”

“That’s fine with me,” Denis replied. “I enjoy the cinema because it’s a chance for me to see and experience so many things that are otherwise denied to me because of my vampire nature, but there is a movie theater in Autun, so I hardly need to drive into Dijon for that. A café, then, or would you rather go dancing?”

Martin was tempted by the idea of getting his hands on Denis as they danced, but a club would probably be crowded and noisy, precluding much in the way of conversation. “Why don’t we have dinner and then see what time it is?” he proposed. “If it’s still early, we can find a café that stays open late and sit there to talk. If not, maybe we could go back to your place and talk there.”

“We could have stayed in Autun for that,” Denis said with a chuckle. “Is there a reason we’re driving an hour each way to Dijon?”

“Because you suggested it,” Martin replied. “I don’t know either city except from casual comments people have made. Raymond and Jean always turn toward Paris when they need anything they can’t find in Dommartin, so I have very little sense of what either town has to offer.”

“Autun is small, but we have our share of good restaurants, and if we aren’t going to take advantage of Dijon’s clubs or cinemas, we’d save time and gas eating in one of them.”

“Let’s turn around,” Martin agreed. “We’re not that far from town yet, certainly not far enough to make it simpler to go on.”

“Are you sure?” Denis asked. “I wanted… well, I wanted to do something nice, since this is our first date and all, and the restaurants in Autun are good, but they aren’t the same caliber as the ones in Dijon and—”

“And you don’t need to take me to fancy restaurants to impress me,” Martin interrupted. “The idea is to spend time with you, not go to fancy places.”

The charmed smile on Denis’s face made Martin glad of his answer. At the next wide spot in the road, Denis turned the car around, heading back to Autun. “It would be easier to leave the car at my apartment and simply walk to the restaurant, if you don’t mind.”

“Walking is fine,” Martin replied. “I rarely drove anywhere in Montréal either. I’d take the subway or the buses and then walk. It was far easier than finding parking. Or if public transportation wasn’t convenient, I’d use a displacement spell.”

“Why not just always use a spell?” Denis asked curiously. “It seems like it would be easier.”

“Because doing magic uses up a lot of energy,” Martin explained. “Yes, I can do it, and in a pinch, I can do a lot of it, but it takes a toll. That’s why the lure of greater magical strength is so strong for wizards, especially those who use a lot of magic in their jobs. Not coming home from a day of work completely exhausted, only to have to turn around and do it again tomorrow, is a wonderful thing.”

“I guess I never thought of it that way,” Denis replied.

“There’s no reason you should have,” Martin assured him. “You haven’t had a partner, and you aren’t around wizards on a regular basis to have picked that up from conversation. It’s one of those things we all know and live with, so it’s not like we need to comment on it unless it’s been a particularly exhausting day, and even then, other wizards understand it without it even being mentioned. So what are our dinner choices?”

“In Autun, we’re pretty much limited to French country fare,” Denis warned. “I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s fine,” Martin said. “I love French food. Are there local specialties I should try?”

“Bœuf bourgignon,” Denis said immediately, “and of course a good bottle of Burgundy to go with it. There are regional cheeses and other specialties as well. The menus tend to vary from season to season and even night to night depending on what the chef can find fresh that day.”

“Sounds perfect,” Martin said. “I can’t wait.”

Dinner finished, Martin insisted on paying, since Denis had no need to eat. Denis had started to argue, but Martin refused to listen. “You can pay next time,” Martin said, knowing he would say the same thing every time they ate dinner together.

It had been an interesting experience, coming into the restaurant where Denis was clearly well known, at least to the owner. The man had shaken Denis’s hand, asked how he was doing, and chatted with him like a long-lost brother. When they were seated, he had brought Martin a menu, but not one for Denis, much to Martin’s surprise. Once Martin had ordered, Denis explained he had come here often with Noël and how the current owner had been a child and then a teenager, working in what had been his father’s restaurant at the time. Over the course of years, Noël had aged, but Denis had not, prompting an explanation. The owners had not kicked him out, much to his surprise, and now he came here any time he dined with a mortal because he did not have to hide his nature from the owners or spend money on food he did not need simply so he could maintain appearances. In Paris, where he was unknown, it made sense that he would protect himself, but Martin found the confidence implicit in the decision not to order a real turn-on.

As the meal went on, Martin noticed the occasional glance from other patrons at Denis’s empty setting while Martin dined on escargots, bœuf bourgignon, and fresh local cheeses, but for the most part, everyone minded their own business, leaving Denis and Martin to talk in peace. The empty table space had been a constant reminder of a different sort for Martin, the reminder that Denis could not seek sustenance anywhere but in the blood of a mortal, a service Martin might provide someday soon. The thought did nothing for his equilibrium.

The dispute over the check finally settled, they left the restaurant, walking back toward Denis’s apartment. “Do you want to take a tour of town?” Denis asked.

“Maybe another night when it isn’t quite so cold?” Martin said, shivering slightly as the breeze picked up and swirled up his pants legs. “I’m not dressed for a nighttime stroll.”

“Then I’ll just point out anything of interest we pass on the way back to my apartment,” Denis agreed.

He led Martin through the narrow streets, pointing out the cathédrale St. Lazare as they passed. “It was built in the twelfth century,” Denis explained, not pausing in their progress as he gave Martin a little history of the church. “Originally it was the chapel of the dukes of Burgundy, before they moved their palace to Dijon. It’s one of the best examples of Romanesque architecture you’ll see in the area.”

“It’s beautiful,” Martin said. “I’ll have to come back during the day so I can explore the inside.”

“It’s worth the visit,” Denis agreed. “I haven’t been inside during the day since I was a boy, obviously, but I remember even now, and I’ve visited at night since then. We had Noël’s funeral Mass there.”

“He was everything to you, wasn’t he?” Martin asked, wondering if he was making a mistake thinking about having a relationship with a man who was so obviously still in love with his deceased lover.

“Yes,” Denis replied honestly, “but he’s been gone thirty years. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

“With me?” Martin asked.

“I think so,” Denis said. “Slowly still. I don’t know that I’m ready to feed from you yet, with all that entails, but I’ve enjoyed our time together more than I thought I could anymore. I thought that part of me had died with Noël. It hurts to wake it up, like when your foot falls asleep and it hurts to walk on it afterward.”

“It’s the feeding that bothers you most, isn’t it?” Martin asked.

Denis nodded as he unlocked the door to the apartment building, gesturing for Martin to go inside. “Sex doesn’t have to mean anything,” Denis said, struggling to find the words to explain. “A physical release, nothing more. Feeding, on the other hand, is never completely impersonal.” He led Martin up the stairs to his apartment. “It might be anonymous in the sense that I don’t know the person’s name, or it might be a paid transaction if I go to Sang Froid or somewhere like that, but it is never impersonal because I can taste so much of the other person in his or her blood. The only thing more intimate a vampire can do is to have sex while feeding. And adding the fact that feeding from you would not only be the incredibly intimate experience it always is, but would also set in motion a magical reaction that would bind us together pretty much for the rest of your life, makes it even more daunting.”

Martin used the excuse of looking around Denis’s apartment to give himself a moment to digest that information. Somehow he had imagined that Denis’s hesitation stemmed, as his own had, from the sexual component many partnerships included. It had only now occurred to him where the true intimacy lay. “Nice place,” he said, looking around the small apartment. The living room was warm and welcoming, an agreeable change to the wind outside. The furniture showed definite signs of wear along one arm of the couch and the ottoman next to one of the armchairs. Martin deliberately chose a different seat, not wanting to take Denis’s favorite spot.

“Thank you,” Denis said. “I moved in here after Noël died. I couldn’t deal with staying in the house we had shared, and I didn’t really need all that space either. Not for just me.”

“Isn’t it funny how two people take up more than twice the space of one person?” Martin asked. “Even if they share a bed, they just seem to need more room.”

“They might share a bed, but they each need their own space,” Denis agreed, “so while two roommates might get away with a two-bedroom apartment, a couple needs three so each has his or her own room as well as the bedroom they share.” He joined Martin on the couch, sitting not in his usual spot, but close enough to Martin that their thighs touched. Martin’s breath caught in his throat as he looked into the vampire’s brown eyes, searching for some sense of what the other man was thinking.

Denis answered his question, lifting his hand to Martin’s cheek and tilting his head so their lips met. Martin gasped into the kiss. Denis took advantage of the momentary surprise, his tongue darting between Martin’s lips to press his claim. Startled, Martin pulled back. “You don’t kiss like that when it’s just about physical release.”

“No,” Denis admitted, “but I also don’t go out to dinner and spend hours talking about music and movies and everything else under the sun when it’s just about release. I’m not ready to feed from you with all that entails, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for you to leave.”

“So what are you ready for?” Martin asked.

“That depends in part on you. If you don’t want to stay, I won’t force you,” Denis said.

“That isn’t what I asked,” Martin said. “What are
you
ready for?”

“I’m ready to find out if you look as good out of your clothes as you do in them,” Denis replied, lifting up onto his knees and bearing Martin back with him. “Now’s your chance to say no.”

Martin leaned back against the arm of the couch and pulled Denis’s head down for another kiss.

Chapter 19

A
DÈLE
picked absently at the scabs on her wrist as she sat at her desk and stared out the window. In theory she was checking alibis for the vampires she had interviewed so far in connection with Pascale’s turning, but she had completely lost her ability to focus on the notes in front of her. Her trip to Paris the evening before had been a complete bust. She had found a club, found a man, and convinced him to give her what she wanted, except that what she thought she wanted had not helped in the least.

The entire time she had been with the man—she had already forgotten his name—she could think of nothing but Pascale, wondering what her partner was doing, who she was with, if she cared about the woman or if it was the same kind of random hook-up as Adèle’s. The man had asked when he could see Adèle again. She had declined to give him her number.

He had not been a bad lover, but he was not what she wanted, and therein lay the crux of her problem. She wanted Pascale, and that thought left her with the need to pace. She would never show that kind of weakness in the office where her colleagues could see it, so instead she sat at her desk picking at her wrist. When warm blood met her fingers instead of skin, she cursed under her breath, grabbed her jacket, and called to her boss through the station as she left that she was following up on a lead. The moment she was outside, she drew her wand and displaced herself to l’Institut.

“Where’s Thierry?” she demanded of the first person she saw.

“He was working in the chapel the last time I saw him,” the gardener answered. “Watch your step if you go in there. He’s got the floor all torn up so he can fix something in the foundation.”

Adèle crossed the courtyard to the monastery church, stopping in the doorway rather than going inside. As the gardener had warned, the floor was torn up in places, stones displaced in no pattern visible to her, but she had no doubt there was method to Thierry’s madness. She had seen l’Institut before he started overseeing the repairs. He had done amazing work in less than a year. Other than the one wing they had condemned after an explosion collapsed a large section, he had managed to renovate the entire abbey, the Hostellerie, and the abbot’s lodge. The grange and the chapel were all that remained. Looking around, she caught sight of him near the altar, his hands pressed against the stone railing that had separated the clergy from the faithful when the chapel was still in use. She would not have blinked at him doing magic, but the sight of the slender man behind him, face buried against Thierry’s neck, only added to the disconcertion she was feeling. She could not see Sebastien’s fangs in Thierry’s skin, but she could imagine it with uncomfortable ease, the long canines driving deep beneath the surface, seeking blood and increasing Thierry’s magical strength exponentially. Her magic sparked around her, little gouts of flame, as she struggled to control the longing she felt at the sight of them, not only for the magical connection but for the tender strength of Sebastien’s arms supporting Thierry’s body as they worked. Even with Thierry’s affinity to earth and his partner’s help, the work he was doing had to be incredibly draining, but Adèle knew Thierry would not falter. Sebastien was there to make sure of it.