Page 19 of The Baritone's Rival

No. Not tonight.

“I had cousins who were turned.” A little white lie, close enough to the truth.

“Oh.” Oscar tapped his fingertips against his thigh. “And you carry around a stake?”

“More than one.” Oscar’s eyes widened at Trent’s answer. “My introduction to vamps wasn’t…pleasant. I spent a long time increasing my odds of survival for when the time came.”

“You trained to kill vampires?”

“Not exactly.” Trent looked out the window. They were crossing the Williamsburg bridge into Manhattan, and the sun sparked gold on the water of the East River. There was a faint rumble as the train ran over the top of them on the next level up. On a different day, Trent might have thought the moment was poetic.

“Then what?”

“If I had to be around them, I had to learn how to protect myself.”

“We’re not all like?—”

Trent stopped Oscar’s words with a sharp look. He was not in the mood for a “not all vampires” speech. He’d been through too much.

“Many of you are,” Trent said, keeping his voice tightly controlled. “Most of you. I know it firsthand. My high school girlfriend was attacked by vampires. Vampires Iknew. Just to get to me. They treated it like a game. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not inclined to sympathy.”

Oscar turned his head away, staring off into the rows of passing buildings. Trent was being harsh, maybe, but it wasn’t his job to protect Oscar’s feelings.

After a few minutes of silence, Trent’s side began to pulse and throb. The adrenaline of had completely worn off. He took a few deep breaths to calm his nervous system. This was always the worst part of a fight, when the ache of the injuries hit in the aftermath.

“Who were they?” Trent asked, distracting himself from the pain shooting through his torso. “The vamps. Why did they attack you? Your ex sent them?”

Oscar cleared his throat, and when he turned back, his jaw was set. His fingers continued to fidget, his hand tapping at the leather-covered door. He squeezed his eyelids together as if trying to banish an upsetting vision.

“He was supposed to be dead.”

Trent took in Oscar’s words. There was a deep hurt there, no matter how Oscar tried to cover it.

“Why did you think he was dead?” Trent resisted the urge to reach out with a comforting touch. They didn’t know each other that way. Or like each other. But Oscar was being so…unlike himself.

Oscar opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. Maybe he, like Trent, couldn’t bring himself to confide in his rival. But the pain was tangible.

“My old coven, the Azarian coven…”

Trent breathed in sharply. “Azarian? You were part of that?”

“Yes? What do you know about my old coven?”

“That it was bad, bad enough that other vamps steered clear of Manhattan.” Trent rolled his eyes at the confusion written on Oscar’s face. “I still have friends back home. They keep me informed. When I decided to go to school in New York, they warned me to stay away from the Azarians.”

“Smart friends,” Oscar said under his breath, staring down at his shoes. “After my old coven master died, there was chaos. The strongest vampires were battling to take over the position. They were ruthless. They sacrificed the weaker vamps, feeding off us…”

Oscar swallowed, his hands curling into fists.

“Never mind that. I caught a glimpse of Elliott. He’d been badly injured. I assumed that the others would finish him off.”

“So, your ex might be alive. Why would he send three vampires to kill you?”

“Not kill me,” Oscar said, his voice barely a whisper. “To take me back. To force me…”

“Force you to what?”

Oscar shook his head, dissipating the cloud of fear and grief that had gathered around him. “I don’t want to talk about it. The short version is, he may believe that I’m his mate.”

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