Page 18 of The Baritone's Rival

“I’m not going to a house full of bloodsuckers.” Trent’s voice shook as he spoke. He wasn’t doing this. He’d spent the last ten years trying to get as far away from vampires as possible.

Oscar turned and locked eyes with him. There was real worry in his face, and something else. Pity? Trent hated that.

“I understand that we don’t really get along?—”

“I don’t know you.” Trent couldn’t help his brusque tone.

“Other than the fact that you’ve decided you hate me and that I’m your biggest competition.”

“You’re not my competition.”

“No.” Oscar’s expression turned sly. “Of course I’m not. You aren’t on my level.”

“Fuck you.” Trent’s side hurt. He was in no mood for witty comebacks.

Oscar sighed. “I know you’re mad because I’m gonna get the Manhattan Lyric gig?—”

“—you’re not?—”

“—but must you know that neither I nor Anthony would ever hurt you.”

“Anthony?!” Trent’s voice squeaked in a very unpowerful way. Dammit, he’d been trying to play it cool. “He’s a vampire?”

Oscar nodded. “He’s the coven master’s mate.”

Trent slumped back onto the dark brown leather of the car seat. That explained so much. No wonder Anthony was so infuriatingly meddlesome. Meddling was the literal job of the coven master’s mate. Anthony had just expanded his range of influence to include his voice studio.

The silence overtook them as they slogged through the New York traffic, slowly making their way from Brooklyn to the Upper West side. Oscar’s discomfort and curiosity poured off him. He shifted in his seat, twiddling his fingers obsessively.

It was driving Trent crazy.

“What?”

Oscar startled and looked over. “Um…nothing.”

Trent rolled his eyes. “You can run home to the covenhouse in like ten minutes. You’re a vampire. You don’t have to wait for me. I’m just a human.”

“What does that mean?” Oscar’s words came out in an indignant rasp.

“I know how impatient vampires get when we can’t keep up with you. I won’t stop you.”

Trent leaned back, his head sinking into the plush cushioned headrest behind him. He closed his eyes. Maybe it was harsh, but he’d killed a vamp today, and he still had a wound that needed to be treated. He wasn’t in the mood to be polite.

“I’m not leaving you. You’re injured.”

Trent shrugged. “The cuts are shallow. Not the worst I’ve had. You don’t owe me anything.”

“You saved my life!” Oscar’s insistent tone forced Trent’s eyes open. What was going on with him? Maybe he didn’t knowhim very well, but Trent couldn’t recall Oscar giving a shit about anyone, well, ever.

Trent didn’t have a response, so he sat there. One thing that unnerved people about Trent was that he wasn’t willing to fill silence with small talk. If there wasn’t anything for him to say, he wouldn’t say anything.

Finally, in a low, tentative voice, Oscar asked the question Trent had been expecting.

“How do you know about us?”

Trent sighed. He wasn’t about to pour out his heart and soul to Oscar Acosta, a man who couldn’t hold a serious conversation if his life depended on it. Besides, Trent didn’t like to think about his past for good reason.

If he started talking about his history, then the memories would flood in. Memories of the vampires in his stepfather’s coven who’d tormented him, memories of the slow unraveling of his mother, of her eventual —

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