Page 3 of The Maestro's Mates
“Hello, weak little vampire. My coven master wants something from you.” The vampire was so much bigger than him, muscular and intimidating, sporting a military-style haircut.
“Where’s my aunt?” Justin asked, gathering his courage.
Pain burst in his face as the vampire’s claw sliced his cheek. He couldn’t fight this. He couldn’t?—
“Justin! It’s time to go!”
Oscar’s bright tenor voice was followed by a loud knocking on his apartment’s front door. Justin winced at the sound, despite being grateful he interrupted the awfulmemory. It had been Oscar that Rick’s coven master had wanted in the end, and Justin had done horrible things to save his aunt.
No. That was all over. Oscar had forgiven him.
“One sec!”
He turned back to the vanity mirror and continued to fuss with his unruly blonde curls. Even in death, his hair was still so perturbing. He loved his curls, but he envied the straight, floppy hair of Oscar’s mate, Trent. All Trent did was step out of the shower and run a comb through it once. Justin’s hair requiredtaming.
He stepped back, checking the whole picture. In baggy black pants and a tight beige top, Justin had found a good balance of sexy twink and self-assured professional. His features were soft, and his fair skin held a kiss of sun. He’d fed the evening before, so his undead pallor was at its lowest effect.
He smiled at his reflection.
“Hi, I’m Justin. This is my first day.”
Ugh. It was so affected. He was trying, but his confidence was shaky. He’d never had a job before. But he had to dosomething, to contribute in some way. Trent and Master Freddie had saved him. They’d gotten him out from under the thumb of the evil vampire coven. He needed to pay them back.
“My coven master knows you’re in love with the long-haired vampire. Oscar.”
Justin froze at the monster’s words. Rick. The hulking vampire was named Rick.
“It’s not true?—”
Another blow rained down on Justin’s head.
“If you lie, you lose the right to speak, weakling.” Ricksneered, his square jaw radiating menace. “Oscar belongs to my coven master. Lead him to us. If you don’t, you’ll never see your aunt or Oscar again.”
No. It was over. Rick was dead. Rick’s master was dead. Oscar and Trent had both forgiven him. Before everything had happened, Justin had been the cheerful one, the one who believed everything would be okay. He had just started to feel like, maybe, he could find that part of himself again.
The Grosvenor Coven was Justin’s home now. He needed a job to be a productive member of it. How hard could it be to sit at the front desk and handle the room reservations at the Manhattan Lyric Opera? Sure, he wasn’t very smart. But there probably wouldn’t be any algebra involved, right?
He turned to the side, admiring his profile. His assdidlook amazing in these pants. That was one point in his favor. Time to go.
Justin ran down the concrete stairs of the utilitarian stairwell. A converted luxury high-rise, the covenhouse was the nicest he’d ever seen, and the largest. Each vampire had their own apartment, and a whole floor had been converted into a large, shared area with a communal kitchen.
Freddie was a fair coven master. He cared about his vampires, and Justin was grateful. In his experience, Freddie was the exception to the rule.
Oscar and Trent stood waiting a few steps from the doorway. They were quite a pair. Oscar was tall and toned, with shoulder-length brown hair and a twinkle in his eyes. Trent was shorter, sporting floppy blonde hair and a linebacker’s build. Trent tossed his backpack over his shoulder when he saw Justin.
“Ready?” Trent asked with a smile.
Justin nodded, but his throat went suddenly dry. Why was he so nervous? It was just a silly job.
“Of course he’s not ready. Look at the poor thing—he’s a mess.”
Justin turned to see Anthony, a dashing brown-haired vampire of Italian descent wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Anthony was the coven master’s mate. He ran the day-to-day of the covenhouse. He also had his fingers in everyone’s business.
Anthony sat on one of the antique couches in the large communal area. It matched the look of the nearby chaise lounge and of the upholstered chairs and framed portraits in the room. Justin had a vague sense Freddie had imported his nineteenth-century British tastes when he took over the building. He didn’t mind it, although it clashed with the glass, concrete, and steel of the modern high-rise.
“I’m not a mess!” Justin said, smiling. “Just a little nervous. Thanks for getting me the job.”
Anthony had sung many times at the Manhattan Lyric, and he’d pulled some strings for Justin. In many ways, it was an ideal situation. The opera house was only a few blocks away, and Trent and Oscar were already attending the young artist’s program there.
