Page 6 of The Baritone's Rival

“Mmm.” Oscar glanced back down at his magazine. The male model was wearing a black tulle top that hung perfectly off his toned frame. Oscar added it to his mental shopping list.

“Nice work tonight.” Freddie pulled on a white tank and sat down next to Oscar. “Your help is appreciated.”

“My pleasure.”

Oscar continued to read, but it was awkward with the coven master sitting there silently next to him. He supposed he should engage. Oscar didn’t care much for hierarchy, and didn’t really think being coven master was all that special, but Freddiehadbeen good enough to allow him to stay in the wake of his old master’s death.

Not only that, but the redheaded Brit was intimidating. Oscar looked up from the magazine.

Freddie smirked. “Fair warning. Anthony is planning to grill you about your love life.”

Oscar scowled. “Tell your mate I’m fine. More than fine. I date hundreds of men a year.”

Freddie shrugged. “Ever since we got married, he’s had his heart set on getting everyone in the coven to settle down.”

Oscar sighed and put down his wine, standing up. “If that’s the case, I’m going back to that club. The guys were hot, and if I leave now, I’ll miss Anthony coming home. It’s bad enough that he’s the coven master’s mateandmy voice teacher. I don’t need him playing matchmaker.”

Freddie chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll be that easy to avoid, but go ahead. Have fun. Don’t annoy Lillian when you get back later tonight.”

Yes. Lillian. Oscar may have stumbled in a time or two, smelling like sex and high off the endorphins, and it was always Lillian catching his walk of shame. She sat watch every evening. There were no other vampires to spare for the job. The Grosvenor coven wasn’t even a year old, and Oscar was the only one left from the days when Charles Azarian ran it. They were still building up their security force.

Lillian was meticulous and strict. She didn’t like him. Possibly because of his late night indiscretions. Or more probably because of his tendency to run his mouth.

“I’ll do my best.” Oscar walked to the front door, reaching for the handle when the door opened.

It was Anthony. Oscar held his face still, masking his annoyance. Anthony was a good person and a good teacher, but he always had his fingers in everything. Oscar preferred superficial, less messy personal relationships. Trusting people had not gone well for him in the past.

“Oscar! I was hoping you’d be home.” Anthony smiled widely.

“I was just heading?—”

“Come, sit down with me.” Anthony grabbed Oscar by the arm, pulling him to the small dining room table.

“Anthony, I?—”

“Sit, sit.” Anthony sat as well, studying him with the intensity of a scientific researcher. “Do you want anything to drink? Coffee, tea, blood?”

“I just finished up some wine.”

“Good, good.” Anthony clutched both of his hands. “Now listen, I’ve known you for a year now. You are smart and talented, and obviously very charming, considering the number of guys you hook up with, but you need something in your life to ground you.”

“I’m grounded.” Oscar’s frustration bubbled up inside. He hated being told about himself, as if anyone else would know. None of them had been there when it had gotten bad, none of them had seen. Besides, once people thought they knew you, they started to make assumptions. And demands. “Everyone says so. That I’m grounded. People love to be around me.”

“Oh, no doubt. But you’re as flighty as a horny virgin in a sex dungeon, flitting from harness to cross to spanking bench, unable to decide what he’s going to try first.”

“Really?” Anthony had a tendency to be blunt, but this was ridiculous.

Anthony gestured at the house around them. “We’re building a home. We’d love for you to stay here for the next hundred years. Meanwhile,youshould be finding your mate and committing yourself to your singing career.”

“I don’t want a mate.” Oscar frowned. “And I am committed. Just because I don’t spend every second self-flagellating in the practice rooms like Trent Erickson doesn’t mean that I’m not ambitious and determined.”

“The auditions for the Manhattan Lyric Young Artist Program are in a month, and?—”

“I know that. I’ll be prepared. And I’ll get it.” Oscar crossed his arms, stifling the instinct to stomp his foot. “You might not have noticed, but I’m very, very good.”

Anthony sighed. “You need to put down roots. Have an actual relationship, not just one night stands.”

“That is not my way.” Oscar pressed his lips together. Anthony meant well, but Oscar knew his own mind. “Relationships don’t interest me.”

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