Page 46 of Thomas
“We don’t get snow in the winter in the southwestern realm.” Thomas made his way across the floor to the cathedral-style circular window, eager to inspect this new vantage point of the property. “Only dreary rain. I hear it snows in Central sometimes, though.”
“We’re at a higher altitude here, hence the ‘upper’in Upper Avalon.”
“Right, of course.” Thomas leaned, watching as the snow flitted and danced lightly through the air. From this angle, he could see the placid lake, not frozen over but steely and dark as it reflected the overcast sky like liquid mercury.
Feeding from Cameron had revived something fundamental within Thomas. A tiny ember of tenacity or perseverance that had grown and bloomed over the past week. As he stared out the window at the falling snowdrifts, the feeling pulsed quietly within his whole being.
Wonder and curiosity. Timidly, hope and yearning.
Amidst these glowing sensations, there was a small nugget of guilt—a lump of coal fixed deep within his chest. Not even a year ago, he’d been in love with Dawn. His eyes had alighted forheralone. And yet, he’d enjoyed Cameron’s blood, profoundly. His home and very presence were healing to Thomas in a way he desperately needed.
Thomas wanted to embrace and welcome this unexpected goodness. Was it wrong to do so? Should he feel ashamed? And at the same time, how could he possibly deny himself and what his nature was telling him?
“Have you never seen snow before?” Cameron asked, interrupting Thomas’s tumultuous deliberations.
“This is the first time.”
“Oh, do you want to go outside? We could walk the garden path if you wish. An outdoor adventure to start our day?”
Sighing, Thomas turned from the window. “I don’t know if my coat is heavy enough for such weather conditions. Or if I have appropriate footwear.” Thomas’s trench coat was at least four years old now and damn near too small. When he’d last slipped it on to come here, he’d been unbearably self-conscious of thelint fuzz lining the dark fabric and the way his pale wrists were a little too exposed.
“About that—I try not to impose, but… how do you feel about acquiring some new items for your wardrobe? I’m not sure how much of a stipend your family provides?—”
“Ha.”
Silence.
Cameron blinked. “Do they not provide a stipend for you?”
“They did when I was under their care. Now that they’ve married me off, no sir.”
“That isnotproper etiquette within the first year of a marriage when you’re still getting settled,” Cameron reasoned. “And it’s… generally unkind.”
Thomas smirked. “You have only touched the surface of how unkind my fathers can be.”
He let the statement hang between them, because even though he’d said it, he still wasn’t ready to follow it up with a confession. With the tangible truth and evidence of their cruelty.
Cameron’s shoulders rose in a breath. He was wearing his mustard cardigan today, and it made him feel and look like the sun. “I am happy, Thomas, to provide a stipend and new clothing for you?—”
“No, you don’t have to?—”
“I know that I do not have to, but Iwantto. So, I will. Let’s talk to Lennon about sitting with you and getting some things ordered. He’s an excellent tailor as well. He’ll be thrilled to take this on with you.”
Despite himself, Thomas’s heart warmed. It would be grand to not feel utterly threadbare, at least sometimes. Especially since their engagement party, or rather, Rachelle’s birthday celebration, was just around the corner. Gods knew Thomas did not want to show up in “shabby chic” attire for that affair.
Thomas could turn this offer down. He could forcibly reject these accompanying feelings and make himself suffer more for suffering’s sake. But… if Dawn were in this same situation, Thomas wouldn’t want that for her. If she’d managed to survive the same horrific events that Thomas had, he would want her to take whatever goodness she could get. Without question or hesitation.
“Does Lennon tailor your clothes?” Thomas asked to distract himself. Perhaps the guilt would always be there? At least until he could confirm that Dawn was alive and well. He needed to know, somehow.
“He does,” Cameron said. “He has to because I’m a bit, um…”
“Broad?” Thomas offered, smiling.
“Oversized.”
“Sturdy,” Thomas corrected. He scrunched his nose. “Strapping.Fetching.”
Cameron shook his head. “This vampire likes his adjectives.”
