Page 102 of Envious Of Fire
Tristan takes a step back, clutching the container, smiles.Your friend Blood 1025 has been specially chosen…for an important task elsewhere in the House.To utilize his…talent.
They appear surprised. “You mean he’s playing violin for you guys now?” They second-guess their wording. “For … for the … the gods …?”
Tristan’s smile tightens.Blood 1025’s music is rather godly in and of itself.Don’t you agree?
One Blood turns to another. “Maybe I should show my art. I have art,” he says suddenly, turning back to Tristan with his eyes alight. “All I need is better paint, a more solid canvas, I … I could paint the gods a portrait. I excel at portraits. You have really great lines, you do, I could paint your portrait, your nose is—”
“I’m a computer engineer,” says the woman, sitting up. “IT has been my bread and butter for eleven and a half years since before … this. Surely you utilize computers. I could be useful.”
The Bloods start eagerly spilling their talents, back and forth, as Tristan takes another step back, then another.Thanks, he says over their elevator pitches, glassy-eyed, grimacing for a smile.I shall take this all into consideration, yes…me and my, um, colleagues.Thank you for the, um, the…for your donation.
He flees the hall to the sound of their continued pleas.
In a study three floors up that has a side bar, Tristan calmly pours the contents of the container into eight martini glasses. It is blissfully silent and peaceful in this study, as likely no one has stepped foot in it for months. But in his head circle the words of the Bloods downstairs, demanding to know where Blood 1025 has gone. For nearly a week, they’ve probably been gossiping nonstop, worrying, building nightmares in their heads, whispering words of wrongdoing. It isn’t the first time something like this happened, with a Blood disappearing. But it feels so much more significant this time, worse, like something is on the verge of breaking apart.
Other than Tristan’s calm right now.
Which is a step upon thin ice, but no cracks are visible.
Tristan forces his focus into filling each of the martini glasses with absolute precision and care, ensuring they are perfectly filled with a fingertip of room at the top, eight pretty glasses, eight pretty drinks for their five guests plus Markadian and Ashara, one to spare if Cindy is still unsatisfied.
He finishes, smiles at his work, eight pretty martini glasses.
Then he thinks of only two glasses—two actual martinis, filled with actual alcohol. He thinks of a small round table by a window in a cabin he shared with someone, years ago.
With Kyle Bentley Amos.
Kyle peering at him over the two glasses, his sweet face, his boy-next-door charm, bright eyes and soft lips. “Happy tenth, my love.” Tristan lifted his glass.Tink!They took a sip from their glasses without breaking eye contact. Kyle kept touching Tristan’s leg under the table with his own, a sly smile creeping over his face, revealing dimples. Tristan bit his lip as he wondered what was on Kyle’s mind. It wasn’t long before he found out, moments later, as the men crashed into each other’s faces, spilling what remained of their drinks. To a nearby couch they went, hands on one another, clothes coming off, as theymade love in the dead of night.
He couldn’t catch his breath, feeling Kyle upon him like he had never needed another person in his life more than Tristan. To be the center of Kyle’s world was all that mattered. Tristan felt weightless in Kyle’s grasp. He could be aggressive with him or as gentle and meticulous as handling a wounded bird. Kyle’s warm smile was a reward for all of the pain they endured together. Each kiss was chased with the next. Every placement of a hand, of their lips, even of their eyes as they gazed upon one another between breaths, it spoke volumes as to how devoted they truly were to one another. Twenty-six years was never enough. Tristan easily would have desired fifty. One hundred. Even two centuries with his love Kyle Amos wouldn’t be enough.
Tristan brings a hand to his heart, feeling as if Kyle is upon him right now, his lips, his breath, his pretty eyes.
It still races for him.
No.
This is a bad impulse. A bad path for his heart and mind. Didn’t he already school himself about this countless times over the year since he’s been back?
He can’t keep indulging himself. Even with memories.
Kyle is gone. Kyle is no longer his. Kyle is not here.
He is gone, recites Tristan to himself as he carries the tray of eight blood martinis from the study and down the hall.He is no longer mine.He is not here. Tristan enters the circular room with the shiny green fountain. His heart still races, so he decides to repeat the words again.He is gone.He is no longer mine.He is—
“Why so dour?” comes someone from behind.
Tristan stops in place, recognizing the voice. He puts on a smile, turns to face George, who lurks at the doorway.Why, hello.
“Are you in amoodbecause you can feel the tick, tock, tick,tock of your tragic little life here in the great House of Vegasyn coming to an end?” George crosses the room, appearing nearly giddy. “I know you were laughing. You and Raya both, both of you, laughing as I assisted unknowingly in your twisted act … but isn’t it queer that I am in fact the one who shall laugh last?”
Tristan maintains an even voice, a blank face.I should think no one in the world dreams of hearing what your laugh sounds like.
“Did you enjoy my redecoration?”
Tristan frowns.Redecoration?
“Surely you’ve been to your tower. You always go to your tower. You and your laughing little Raya and her silly hair. Did you see? All the décor? It took me half a morning.”
