“But not a gag.”
That didn’t stop Rahil from pouting. “You lock away my fingers and put my other best asset in a cage.”
“And at no point have you refused,” Mercer reminded him, having far too much fun for his own good. If Rahil was going to taunt him so purposefully, it was only fair that he got the chance to retaliate.
“People pleaser, remember.”
“So you’d let anyone torment you like this?”
That made Rahil’s mouth shut entirely. He finally grumbled, “Only anyone with hands like yours.”
“Hmh. Compliment accepted, I suppose.” Mercer turned toward his metal workbench, scowling at the unholy gold.
What to try that he hadn’t already? Over the last three weeks, Mercer had gone through every step of the holy silver process forward and backwards, tracking results and comparing them to the way the holy silver reacted to Rahil’s body. If he really wanted to be sure his creation was working, he’d need a vampire who wasn’t immune to test it on, but at this rate, it would be months before that happened.
Anthony was already sending him questions about his progress, though his emails had been getting buried in the threats from William Douglas. At least, up until yesterday afternoon, when those threats had suddenly ceased. He hoped that meant the man had given up.
Mercer glanced back at his phone just in case. Still nothing. That should have comforted him, but somehow no sign of William was worse. At least when the emails had been coming, his fear had a target; now he had all those same anxieties, but they built pointlessly in his chest, so amped up they were prone to start eating him alive soon.
Mercer began heating the gold a little aimlessly, hoping something might occur to him as he played with it.
He still hadn’t gotten anywhere when Rahil butted into his thoughts. “How are you still single, with your good looks and all these glorious arts and crafts to use as leverage? I know your wife’s passing was hard, and it takes time to feel ready for a new partner after a loss like that, but surely you have enough life left that you want someone to spend it with?”
“For the record, I am only forty-one, which is plenty young still. But I’ve been happy on my own thus far, thank you.”
“All alone?” Rahil sounded hesitant—no, not merely hesitant, but worried for Mercer, as though at the wrong answer he was prepared toassignMercer a companion.
Mercer’s mind flew to Lydia, his beautiful sharp little girl with all her fresh barbs and the growing dryness of her humor, and he wanted to tell Rahil that he was the farthest thing from alone. But that wasn’t quite true. And he found he didn’t want to tell Rahil about Lydia—not for her protection, but for—for—he wasn’t sure. It felt like if he knew about her, it would be a reason for her to know abouthim; and Mercer couldn’t have that.
Regardless of what context they were introduced in, with Rahil’s fangs out, Mercer could not predict Lydia’s reaction: her fear, all that trauma from Leah’s death pulled back to the surface. There was a good reason why Mercer kept his customers away from his daughter, and this was no different.
“Not always,” was the answer he went with. And then, nudged out of him by an unwarranted ache in his chest, he asked, “Doyouhave anyone?” He had not thought his own voice could still sound that gentle when talking to someone other than Lydia, and the shock of it almost caused him to fae-spark the nearest atoms into his molten metal. He could not bear to check behind him for Rahil’s reaction, but by the mirrored softness of his voice, it seemed to have done similar things to his vampiric associate.
“I could,” Rahil said. “There are people living with me—friends, I suppose you could call them, though I’m more like their benevolent landlord who charges them nothing and occasionally eats their food—and my family never fails to include me in their group chats. I still have some contact with my ex-wife’s family too, on occasion.”
“Ex-wife?” Mercer glanced back then, unable to stop himself from meeting Rahil’s gaze. “How long were you together?”
“Almost twenty years.” Rahil looked so weary, a deep, settled sadness that Mercer understood, born from a love profound enough that it never quite went away. “Our divorce was… well, not amicable, but not surly either.”
“You loved her still?” Mercer guessed.
“Very much. We just… we didn’t know how to turn that love into something that would help the other anymore. We did try again, finally, years later, but…”
“Are you still in touch?”
“She, um.” Rahil’s voice broke, barely returning as he averted his gaze. “She died of lung cancer about a decade ago, right after we got back together.”
“Ah. I’m sorry—for all of it.” It wasn’t quite his own story, but Mercer understood parts of it, nonetheless. There was nothing for him to protect or mend here though, and he didn’t know what more to do except to either wrap his arms around Rahil, or else change the subject. He cleared his throat. “Were you a vampire before you met her? If that’s an intrusive question, don’t feel as though you need to answer.”
“No, no, you’re good.” Rahil seemed to pull himself back together as he said it, his lightly forced grin revealing the tips of his fangs behind the muzzle. “I turned the year after we met. It threw a slight wrench in our engagement plans—vampires were only considered marriageable material in certain states at that point—but we worked it out. Both our families were unusually kind about it, though hers needed coaxing. Mine I had to coax into backingoff, if you know what I mean. But I’d rather that than the alternative. It could have very easily gone worse.” He looked thoughtful as he said it, a little forlorn and almost… conflicted? The expression passed too quickly for Mercer to be certain. Rahil chuckled. “At least you didn’t have to have that awkward ‘Hey Mom, Dad, I’m a fae,’ conversation with your family.”
“Ha, well. My parents weren’t in the picture for long. It was my human grandparents who raised me. That conversation had far less sitting down and talking and a lot more of Grandma shouting about the changes five-year-old me had made in her favorite porcelain bowl.” He smiled at the memory, his grandma half-dressed in her Sunday best, staring in shock at the stones now molded into her dishware. “They had their flaws, but they were good people. I wish they were still here for—” He cut himself short before sayingLydia. That was the exact can of worms he’d already opted not to open.
His shortstop seemed less sudden, though, as Kat immediately began baying from inside the house.
Usually he’d disregard her barking—most likely targeted at whatever small animal she’d noticed on the lawn—but with all the threats from William Douglas of late…
Mercer stepped toward the shed door. Immediately, Kat went quiet again.
