Page 49 of The Tenor's Shadow

“Do you want me to go?” Anthony asked. “I can leave you to rest.”

Freddie hated the fear and sadness in Anthony’s voice. Anthony moved to get up, and Freddie grabbed his hand.

“Please, Anthony, let me explain. Will you?”

Anthony stared at him, and Freddie squeezed his hand, trying to project everything he felt for him through the physical connection. Anthony nodded, sitting and leaning back against the gray satin headboard. But his shoulders were still tense, his body on guard, as if he were waiting for another blow. Freddie had to make this better.

“What happened during that fight was not normal, not even for a vampire. It was what we call the crimson surge. It’s a sort of mindless, instinctual rage, where the vampire essence, the demon, takes over and bypasses all human thought. It turns us into a killing machine. It’s never happened to me before.”

Confusion flashed across Anthony’s face. “It hasn’t? Why…what made it happen?”

“Only two things can trigger the crimson surge. When a vampire is in mortal danger. Or when someone threatens their mate.”

“I knew you were outnumbered,” Anthony said, “but I guess I didn’t realize you were in so much danger.”

Freddie just had to say it. “I wasn’t. You were.”

Anthony’s eyes went wide. Freddie continued.

“When Brian had his claw around your throat, I lost my mind. My vampire essence, my demon, took over. I would never slaughter my adversaries like that, not when I could subdue them easily enough. But the minute you were in danger, my control was gone.”

“I’m your mate?” Anthony’s voice was soft and tentative, the polar opposite of his normal boisterousness. Freddie wanted to hold him, to wrap him up and never let him out of his sight.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re stuck with me. What you want matters. I would never force you to be with me because of some sort of ridiculous vampiric predestination. I would never want you to hate me because you didn’t have a choice.”

Anthony cocked his head, his expression unreadable.

“Why would I hate you?”

Freddie sighed, rubbing his eyes with his hand. “Because you don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I know you, though.” Anthony’s tone was strong and insistent. “You have kept me safe. You’ve put my life before your own. I don’t care what you’ve done.”

“You should.” Freddie sprang up from the bed. He wobbled on his feet, a little residual weakness from the fight still affecting him. But he had to push through.

“Freddie, I—”

“No.” Freddie held up his hand to Anthony. “Just let me get this out. Then you can choose for yourself. I’ve…I’ve never told anyone the full story, not even Master Hughes. But you should hear it.”

Anthony nodded, concern lining his face. Framed by the headboard, Anthony was like an old painting. The moonlight illuminated his olive skin, and his dark hair contrasted with the gray fabric behind him. He was beautiful. And distant, untouchable.

Freddie pressed on. Anthony deserved to hear it all.

“My sire was not a good man. He was selfish, a petty lordling with a desire for more power and an insatiable need to cause others pain. He turned me because…well, I’m not entirely sure, although I have some ideas. My name back then, over two centuries ago, was Frederick Grosvenor.”

Freddie paced around the hotel room as he spoke, needing an outlet for the nervous energy bubbling inside of him. He stared down at the pattern his feet made on the burgundy carpet.

“The Grosvenor family today has no reason to know me, a second son who disappeared in a murderous rage in the 1700s. But back then, my family was important. Wealthy, yes, but we also had political power. And Henry Calvert wanted it.”

Freddie stopped and stared out the window. He didn’t want to see Anthony’s face as he told his story. To see the fear and disgust. He wasn’t sure he’d survive that.

“He ambushed me in a London alley on a moonless night. Took me by surprise. Then he turned me. When I awoke, I was in my own bed. My family had sent out a servant to find me. The man had piled my unconscious body onto a wagon and brought me back to the estate. I woke up before they could track down a doctor.”

Freddie gripped the windowsill, his fingernails making indents in the old white paint.

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