Page 20 of The Baritone's Rival

“Vampire mates. What a scam. If I found out I was some bloodsucker’s destiny-boyfriend, I’d fucking run.”

The harsh words were out before Trent could stop them. Oscar stared at him. Trent wished he hadn’t blurted that out. It revealed more than he’d intended.

“Where did that come from?” Oscar asked. He had a gleam in his eye that Trent needed to shut down. He didn’t want Oscar asking questions about his family and his past.

“I’ve never known any mates that worked out well,” Trent answered. “The opposite, in fact. Most of them are dead now.”

Oscar cocked his head, not saying anything. Trent should have kept that can of worms closed. Oscar’s eyes still held a glint of suspicion, but he didn’t ask any more questions.

“Besides,” Trent continued, “I thought once you drank your mate’s blood, there was no question. That you would instantly know.”

Before Oscar could respond, the car slowed, pulling up in front of a large apartment building. Not a skyscraper, but enormous still, an imposing structure of concrete, glass, and steel. It was plain, with no ornamentation or embellishment, and the individual units were all dark. Had they tinted the windows? No light escaped from inside.

If this was the covenhouse, it wasn’t a comforting sight.

Oscar cleared his throat, and his hand went to the car door handle.

“We’re here.”

Chapter 6

Oscar

The plan was to sneak Trent into the covenhouse, patch him up, and leave with no one the wiser. Oscar had texted Justin on the ride there, letting him know what had happened. He wanted to avoid a tedious explanation to either Freddie or Anthony about the fight. In and out, fast as lightning.

He was quickly disabused of that notion.

Trent’s pain must have gotten worse, because he allowed Oscar to assist him in getting out of the car. They made their way slowly and silently into the building and through the abandoned lobby. It had been an office space once, open and filled with desks and computers. It was all a front for his old coven, a ruse to make the humans think the place was a bustling Fortune 500 company. Freddie had ordered everything cleared but had yet to decide what to replace it with, which left behind something of a concrete cavern, a dark, echoey atrium that turned a little creepy at night.

They reached the elevator and took it up to the third floor, which served as the coven’s large common area. When the doors slid open, Anthony was waiting for them. The diminutive voice teacher immediately rushed to Trent’s side.

“Are you okay? Justin said you were wounded.”

Trent winced at Anthony’s touch. Oscar guided him out of the coven master’s mate’s reach.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Oscar said, ushering Trent down the hall, deftly navigating around the various Victorian end tables and armoires. Freddie couldn’t bear to leave an inch of a room empty. Instead he took a maximalist approach, which meant that the walls were covered with colorful woven tapestries and period knick-knacks perched on the credenzas and sideboards.

“I’ll tend to him in the kitchen and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Anthony trailed behind them, gesticulating as he always did when he got worked up. “If you think I’m letting the two of you leave without getting to the bottom of this, you’re insane.”

As they turned into the kitchen, Oscar guided Trent to the wall opposite the seldom-used stove and eased him down into the small wooden chair that stood there. Trent hadn’t said a word since they’d walked through the door. Oscar wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain, or if he was uncomfortable being there.

He bent down and opened a drawer in the rectangular kitchen island. Inside was a collection of simple medical supplies: gauze, tape, bandages, suturing needles, a bottle of alcohol. For the most part, the items were unnecessary for vampires, but the coven members had human friends and family that visited often.

Turning back, Oscar winced at the sight of Trent’s blood-soaked t-shirt. Trent’s eyes were closed. Oscar leaned down and whispered gently into his ear.

“I need to take off your shirt.”

Trent nodded mutely, and gingerly lifted his arms without opening his eyes, like a sleepy child.

Oscar grasped the black tee by the bottom edge and pulled it over Trent’s head. Trent grunted as the fabric came unstuckfrom his wound. As Oscar wriggled the neck past his ears, his blonde hair flopped adorably. Oscar tossed the garment to the side and glanced back at Trent.

He shouldn’t have done that. Trent’s torso was exposed, and he wassolid. He had the big biceps and muscular chest of a football player, and his rock hard abs were covered with a thin layer of fat. He was mostly smooth, except for the fine hair on his forearms, and the cutest sparse blonde treasure trail.

Oscar’s appreciative thoughts were quickly squashed by the sight of Trent’s injury. Four clear parallel cuts, red and raw and exposed, dripping blood once more now that there was nothing to staunch the bleeding.

“Fucking god,” a voice from behind him said. Oscar glanced over his shoulder to see Anthony staring from the doorway.

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