The Drifter (Sanguine Hearts Book 2)

9 History

Michael turned his head slowly and looked at Maeve with the patience of a saint in his expression and the warning of the devil in his eyes. Maeve chose to ignore his warning and stepped slowly away from him and towards Julien. She was not a woman to be kept waiting. Michael was going to keep her waiting. She extended one elegant hand to the young man in front of Michael and waited for him to take it and grace her skin with his lips. “My name is Maeve, and you are?” Her dark brown eyes met his and held them. ‘Mine, I will not share him.’ Slipped slowly into his mind. He wanted nothing more than to tell her that he was none of her concern, but with the warning, he was given and the strength it took to penetrate his mind he knew better. He recognized her for what she was. He didn’t keep her waiting.

“Julien Russo, My Lady Maeve.” He took her hand, kissed it softly, and bowed a little deeper once his lips touched her skin. Her strength and power were nearly overwhelming to him. He had only sensed such power from one other being. It only heightened his curiosity. He smiled wickedly as he looked at her face through his dark lashes. His lips hovered over her hand. ‘But are you his?’ Her eyes were sharp, a deep rich brown ringed in crimson. He’d touched a nerve. It was a dangerous game that he couldn’t help but play. It had been too long since he’d felt his heart pound as hard. In her eyes, there was a lustful warning. Michael became aware of a secret exchange between Maeve and Julien. The whole idea made him very uncomfortable and angry. He was uncomfortable with how the exchange made him feel, Michael shifted his weight from one foot to the other and helplessly watched.

Michael cleared his throat, “Perhaps maybe we should order drinks and take a seat. There are far better places to have conversations than the top of the stairs.” He looked at Julien and seriously entertained the thought of throwing him from the balcony. Was that even his thought? It didn’t matter any damage from the fall would only be temporary. He pushed the thoughts away. He did not like the exchange that seemed to happen between Maeve and Julien. He did not like it one bit. Was that what Grayson was warning him about? ‘Guard your heart.’ Yeah, he was gonna fail at that.

They moved away from the stairs and toward their customary seats. Michael insisted that Julien join him at the bar. He briefly considered going and asking Ari to mix a drink for each of them but Grayson’s presence at Ari’s bar was a very strong deterrent. He steered Julien away from Maeve and to Anya’s bar. The conversation between Julien and Michael came to a lull and died as they moved away from Maeve until Julien broke the silence that had grown between them.

“She looks like him.”

“I never noticed.”

“If her eyes were green and she was a man, she could be him. I can easily see it. How could you have missed it?” His was soft, non-threatening, almost soothing.

Rather than answer a question he didn’t want to face, he changed the subject. “Why are you even here?” Michael turned angry hurt eyes upon him. It hurt. It hurt to be reminded of all that he lost when Grayson broke their ties and walked away forever because of a choice he allowed himself to be led to make by the man before him. It hurt him more than he would ever say to know that it was his choice that drove Grayson away. He stood a little straighter, shielded and guarded his heart, and asked Julien what he wanted to drink. Grayson still cared. Cared enough to send him a message, or had he imagined that Grayson cared, that he sent the message? Standing with Julien at his side again he started to wonder if Grayson ever cared about anything. He had to. His mind slipped back to happier days, to the days when they traveled Europe together, all the plays they attended when they lived in Paris, and all the pieces of history that they observed in their time together. All the places they haunted together floated past his mind’s eye and the various places that they had visited just because Grayson wanted to see them. He remembered Grayson’s passion for castles and all things related to them and walking the Irish countryside just to spy one. He remembered sneaking past the guard and wandering the halls at night, just to see the way the people lived. Oh, the sights that befell their eyes on their senseless journeys. Grayson was wild and free, happy just to be alive. He remembered England and his heart turned cold. England, that was the beginning of the end of them. It still hurt so deeply that he thought he’d rather die than live with the pain.

For the briefest moment, Michael’s blue eyes were bright and shining, just the way he remembered them being. It seemed his spirits were soaring, then they came crashing down, and his eyes returned to the same sad dull expression that drove him away. Julien turned and asked the bartender for a neat scotch and waited for Michael to order his and Maeve's drinks.

Michael sat back and sipped his drink his eyes only left Maeve's face to gaze upon Julien's. Two sets of beautiful brown eyes, both of which he loved and hated. It was a strange conflagration of emotions floating around inside his head. At least with Grayson, he knew how he felt. These two served to confuse, anger, and scare him and nothing more He watched them as they seemed to have a conversation inside their heads, one that didn't include him because he didn’t possess that particular skill set. He wanted to get up and walk to the balcony's edge and look down upon his old friend, the one he once thought he'd have for eternity. He really wanted to go and sit in silence with him, at least there would be silence. Even though he found himself really wanting to, he knew he couldn't. Grayson only ever spoke to him out of necessity. He never just said, “Hello” because he could like he used to do. Grayson was occupied with those, more like the one, he chose to be around. Michael felt jealousy over the apparent connection Ariel and Grayson shared, and Grayson’s attraction to the girl swelled in his heart. His aching jealousy was not Grayson’s necessity. Grayson would never stand for it, or actually, he'd stand and glare until Michael buckled and skulked away like a dog with its tail tucked firmly between its legs.

Michael didn't know how Grayson did it. How he compartmentalizes his life and how his compartment in Grayson's life had been so carelessly discarded. It was hard to keep the pain at bay, the heartache, and the longing for a friendship he didn't have to question. With Grayson, there were no ulterior motives, nothing was hidden. Grayson was painstakingly honest. It was exactly what it was, a friendship an honest and true kinship. Grayson didn’t lie. He faked nothing and was always upfront, his intentions known. What he felt he felt, what he said he believed to be true. No, with him there was no question, no second-guessing, and no worries.

Michael hated himself. He threw it all away. Just tossed it aside like so much garbage and for what exactly? Looking over at Julien and Maeve, he didn’t know what. They looked so cozy sitting together on the couch. Julien’s ankle rested on his knee while his other knee hovered over Maeve’s crossed legs. They were looking at each other and smiling small devious little smiles at each other and looking back over at him. He couldn’t help but wonder what they were thinking, but since they had chosen to shut him out. He had no way of knowing. He hated it.