Page 27 of The Tenor's Shadow

Anthony stared at him, and when Freddie didn’t respond, he continued, his voice shaking with angry frustration. “Something was weird with them. What aren’t you telling me?”

Freddie still said nothing. It’s not that he wasn’t able to lie, but this was different. There was a burning in his chest, a physical pain at the thought of deceiving Anthony. He’d done that enough. He wouldn’t make up some elaborate falsehood. Eventually, Anthony might find out the truth, and for every lie he would hate Freddie more.

“Answer me!” Anthony moved closer to him. “You said that I’m yours. What was that?”

Freddie didn’t have a response. He wasn’t sure why he’d said that. The Azarian coven master asserting a claim on Anthony had activated a deep rage in him. If Anthony hadn’t been standing there, he would have slaughtered the three of them. To hell with avoiding an international inter-coven war.

That disturbed him. Freddie always kept his emotions on a tight leash. Losing control worried him. He couldn’t protect Anthony, or his coven, if he was flying off the handle.

“Listen to me,” Anthony’s voice came out harsh and broken. “I don’t have people in my life I can’t trust. People that hide things from me. People that take away my ability to make informed decisions. And I certainly don’t kiss them. So forget what happened out there. I misjudged you.”

The words hit Freddie like a freight train, and as usual, he stood there and took the impact. This was no alley fight, though, and Anthony wasn’t some punk vamp. This hurt.

Anthony grabbed his light beige coat from the closet and threw it on.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you. Don’t follow me.”

Anthony was out the door and down the hall. Freddie would go after him, of course, but he’d stay hidden. He moved to the window and pushed it open just enough to allow him to squeeze out, pulling it closed behind him.

The brisk, cool breeze coming off the bay cleared Freddie’s head. What was his next move? He had stopped Anthony from being kidnapped, but his charge had seen too much. He’d ended up pushing Anthony away, and he didn’t know how to get back whatever trust they’d had.

It was dark enough now that Freddie would go unnoticed on the rooftops. Freddie kept his eyes trained on Anthony as he exited the hotel, although it was unnecessary. Anthony’s scent was so strong and distinct to him, that delicious citrus and leather, that he could have tracked him blindfolded.

The two kids that the Azarian coven master had sent to kidnap Anthony had been ridiculous. They were 80s stereotypes of punk vamps, and their reactions had been the uncontrolled flailing of the very young. They had to have been turned less than a year ago.

Brian had been older, but still a baby compared to Freddie. As the head of security, Freddie would never have sent new vampires out to capture a hostage. Baby vamps lacked control. They had trouble keeping their emotions in check.

Like he should talk. What the hell had he been thinking, kissing Anthony? No matter what Master Hughes had said, getting involved with someone on a job, with the coven master’s nephew, was a terrible idea. Anthony had some kind of hold on him, and no good would come of it.

Anthony turned onto a side street. Jumping to the top of a nearby pharmacy, Freddie landed lightly on the tarred, flat roof.

He was out of his depth. He’d always looked down on his coven-mates who pestered Master Hughes about every insignificant problem, but he didn’t have a choice. After a moment of deliberation, Freddie reached out with his mind.

Master?

Despite being several hundred years old, Freddie wasn’t nearly as powerful as Oliver Hughes, and it was quite the distance from California to England. He waited for the response. Once his master boosted the signal, they could speak normally.

Freddie. I can count on one hand the number of times you have called for me in our long years together. What’s wrong?

As Freddie spoke, he kept his eyes trained on Anthony, who had stopped to peer into the window of a bookstore.

We were attacked.

Report.

Three vamps, Azarians. Two very young, the third more experienced. They cornered us in a secluded area. I fought them off. All still alive.

Too bad, but probably for the best. And Anthony?

Physically fine.

And?

Anthony continued down the street, and Freddie followed, leaping across several rooftops. It wasn’t a problem to keep up. Anthony was wandering as if he had no clear destination.

He doesn’t trust me. The vamps were indiscreet.

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