Page 9 of The Maestro's Mates
Sebastian was unable to keep from smiling at the thought. “I’ll work on it.”
Chapter 5
Pavel
Before he knew it, Pavel was stepping out of the elevator on the lowest floor of the basement and into the dim light of the opera house’s storage.
To his left stood rows and rows of clothing racks, filled with luxurious-looking fabrics. FromAidatoDead Man Walking, the costumes spanned hundreds of years of history. And beyond, if you counted the operas based on myths and fantasy.
To his right was furniture in a mélange of styles. Queen Anne. Victorian. 70s bar stools. All organized by era and by type. There were desks and chairs and lamps, some spare but most lush and vibrant. There were many operas about wealthy aristocrats, after all, from many different eras. And he predated all of them.
The huge room was pretty much a warehouse. It was empty of people, thank God. Up one level, there was a storage space that held the props and costumes in more frequent circulation. This lonely floor had become Pavel’s escape.
It was a good thing the place was empty, because he was having a panic attack.
How had he not realized sooner what Sebastian was to him? He’d been teaching the man for a year and a half now. They must have touched before, yet he hadn’t noticed anything special about him. All he’d seen was a talented, handsome young singer. He had a rare voice, a large, powerful bass that was surprisingly supple and agile.
He’d appreciated Sebastian’s musical ability, and he’d thought the man intelligent, if a bit of a troll, but he hadn’t felt anything personally for him beyond an aloof respect.
There was a good reason, of course. Justin hadn’t been there.
Once the three of them had touched, it had been impossible to ignore the connection. These two were his mates. He had two mates. One vampire mate. One witch mate.
It wasn’t unheard of for a gargoyle to have two fated ones, but he had long given up on finding his. If he hadn’t been gifted with a mate or two after three thousand years, there had been no reason to think they would come now. And yet, there they were.
Why did the universe hate him? After all these years, all this waiting, to be given mates just as his gargoyle nature was winding down was cruel.
Pavel was breathing hard now. He bent over at the waist as his chest tightened, forcing more air into his body. Try as he might, he couldn’t push their faces out of his head. Justin with his curly blonde hair and his brown eyes. Sebastian with his pale skin and his jet-black hair.
In many ways, they were great contrasts. Sebastian was tall, and his bass voice was deep, a purring engine of flirting mischief. Justin, on the other hand, was tiny,and in the few words they’d exchanged, Pavel had been soothed by the optimistic lilt of his light tenor.
These men were his.
As the overwhelm subsided somewhat, Pavel straightened up. Walking forward forty or fifty feet, he made a sharp left into the rows of costumes and stepped into the sea of heavy fabric. He wanted to lose himself, to disappear into the history all around him.
He couldn’t saddle Sebastian and Justin with his sad final years. Pavel had known it would come eventually. There were few gargoyles left in the world. There hadn’t been a new gargoyle child in centuries. He’d watched as it happened to his friends and family, this slow descent, this losing of speed and vitality until all that was left behind was a monument of frozen stone.
He’d accepted it. But now he’d met his mates.
Glancing around, Pavel’s eyes fell on an extravagant purple gown in the Tudor style. He recognized it immediately as Anne Boleyn’s gown fromAnna Bolena.It had been one of the first operas he’d seen at the Manhattan Lyric, years before he’d worked his way up the ranks to be artistic director of the young artists’ program. Maria Callas had starred. Her beauty and raw power had changed the course of his life. He’d dedicated himself to the art form because of her.
But had it been enough to fill a life long bereft of friends and romance? He hadn’t seen another gargoyle in decades. He kept himself apart from the humans, watching them grow old and die around him.
Now it was his time.
No. He wouldn’t burden the two men with his death.They were young. They had each other. He refused to let them watch him deteriorate.
He would fade alone. Perhaps his lifeless stone body could be left down here. The company could bring him onstage as a set piece occasionally so he could continue to enrich the art form he loved so much.
That wouldn’t be the same as spending his final years with his mates, but it would be enough.
Chapter 6
Sebastian
By the time Pavel arrived at the work session, Sebastian’s fellow young artists had been singing through their music for twenty minutes. He and Trent had been practicing their piece: the tense, malicious duet between Rigoletto and Sparafucile in Verdi’sRigoletto.Sebastian adored performing the scene. He was cast as Sparafucile, the villainous assassin, and it allowed him to be an absolute menace. It was the kind of role that made him feel most at home.
The maestro didn’t make eye contact with him when he entered the room. Instead, he stood quietly, allowing them to finish, and then prodded them to start‘Siete voi?’the big ensemble in Rossini’sLa Cenerentola.
