Page 36 of The Baritone's Rival

“He does not!” Oscar’s nostrils flared as he spoke. “We just…we experienced the same shit. The old Azarian coven. It was bad. We have a connection because of it.”

“I don’t know…” Trent picked up the fork and knife lying in front of him and cut into the first fried egg.

“You can’t know how awful it was.” Oscar closed his eyes, and the morning sun cast an angelic yellow-gold glow over his pale face.

Trent said nothing. There was a melancholy underneath Oscar’s words that was unusual for the typically flippant vampire. Oscar’s eyes snapped open. He locked his gaze to Trent’s. The intensity made Trent’s breath catch.

“We were starved.” A flash of orange fire sparked in Oscar’s eyes as the words left his mouth. “They would withhold blood from the newer vampires, making us thirsty and desperate. We would do anything to be fed. The need clouded our minds, made it impossible to even understand some of the evil they forced us to enact.”

Trent’s gut stirred, filling with a protective rage. No one should treat Oscar that way. No one had the right.

“It didn’t improve when Charles Azarian died,” Oscar continued. His voice shook, and his hands were tight balls resting on the patterned tablecloth. “Not for a while. The fighting was horrific. Somewhere in the middle of all that, Justin disappeared. I think he managed to escape and live free, for alittle while at least, but then something changed. He hasn’t told me about it yet.”

Oscar’s hands flattened against the table, mindlessly smoothing out the tablecloth. “A few of the younger vampires and I hid in an isolated wing of the covenhouse. I didn’t see him after that. We did our best to stay away from whichever of Azarian’s cruel henchmen had control at any given moment.”

Oscar took a deep breath, calming himself. “After a week, the noise of the fighting died down, but we didn’t dare leave. We were starving. The newest vamps desperately needed blood. I was planning to venture out when Freddie found us. I was the only one still conscious.”

“Why didn’t you get out earlier?” Trent asked, his voice soft. His chest ached with compassion for Oscar. It must have been horrible.

“It was brutal. We couldn’t chance it. The elders of the coven had always been cruel, and my ex was the cruelest of all of them, but after Charles was gone, they became ruthless. They had no regard for life, slaughtering anyone who got in the way of their mad quests for power. I hope…I can only hope they’re all dead.”

Trent’s heart caught in his throat, hearing the rawness in Oscar’s voice. There was a lot the man hadn’t dealt with. Instinctively, Trent got to his feet, positioning himself behind Oscar and wrapping his arms around his chest.

Oscar’s response was an intense, desperate grasping. He buried his face in Trent’s bicep. Pain radiated off him.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar whispered. Trent could feel his cool breath against the skin of his arm.

“For what?” Trent stayed still, strong and solid, allowing Oscar to anchor himself.

“For bringing you into this…for being so weak…I don’t know…”

“There is nothing about you that is weak,” Trent said, his mouth near Oscar’s long, silky brown hair. “We are…we are given things in life that we shouldn’t be, that we don’t deserve, and we do what we must in order to make it through. We are survivors.”

Oscar nodded, and a trickle of liquid hit Trent’s skin. He was crying. The ache in Trent’s chest turned to a stabbing pain. There was a deep wound in Oscar that had only just started to heal, and it hurt to be near it. But Trent couldn’t leave, couldn’t remove himself from it. He tightened his embrace, trying to project stability and safety. Oscar needed him.

They stayed there for several minutes, Oscar sitting, Trent’s arms wrapped around his chest. Trent listened to Oscar breathe, his mind spinning. He was not someone with a lot of close friends, close connections. This was maybe the most intimate he’d felt with someone since…since his mother died eight years ago.

Slam. Crack.

The noise pierced the quiet moment and Trent spun around, grabbing a nearby kitchen knife. He scanned the room for the source of the sound, but it wasn’t immediately apparent.

“Look.” Trent turned toward Oscar’s voice. The vampire had his claws out. His fangs had dropped, and he was pointing to one of the big front windows. There was a large crack running down it.

“What the hell did that?” Trent asked. Oscar shook his head. Trent walked forward slowly, the wood floor creaking under his steps. He was hyper aware of every sound, every movement of the air, as adrenaline pumped through him. He reached up and ran his hand over the crack in the glass. He stared past it out into the trees.

“Come on,” Trent said, going for the door, but Oscar was there with his hand out, stopping him.

“It’s too dangerous,” Oscar said, his eyes hard and fierce. “You’re human. I’ll go out and look. Get your gear from your room.”

Trent sighed. Would Oscar be a smothering nanny this whole week? He’d kept himself safe for years before they met.

“Go.” Trent gestured out the window, then opened a nearby drawer. When they had arrived, he’d stashed a wooden stake there. With a knife in one hand and a stake in the other, he was as ready as he could be.

He walked back to the window to see Oscar bent over outside on the porch. Despite Oscar’s directive, Trent’s curiosity got the better of him. He stepped out into the cool morning air.

Oscar straightened as Trent came through the door. “I told you to stay inside,” he whispered, his voice almost a hiss.

“What is it?” Trent asked, ignoring the rebuke. Oscar sighed, then gestured downward.

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