A Mad Vampire Fell for Me

Fear Is Good

Cedric let out a breath, but his eyes never left Dorian. The man had a figure. It was hard to look anywhere else.

Dorian wasn't gay. Cedric was.

A flicker of something close to disappointment passed through him and was gone before he could name it. He ought to be glad. Dorian not being gay meant he and Julian could love each other freely. Nothing in their way. No one.

Dorian observed, with a certain bemusement, how much the world had opened up. He was behind the times, apparently. Same-s*x relationships, discussed in the open now.

He remembered that when he was younger, Aldoria hadn't even legalized same-s*x marriage. Had things shifted that far in a handful of years?

Not his concern. He didn't like men.

So Julian could please stop staring at him like he was the enemy.

Julian didn't believe him. Dorian was too beautiful, and his face was a constant, silent reminder of who the real heir was in this house.

Julian didn't look like Edmund. He didn't look like Eleanor. His face was lively, sweet, endearing. But beautiful was a different country, and Julian didn't have a passport.

Dorian looked like Eleanor. Beautiful. That was the word. Was this what blood meant? Raised in an ordinary house his entire life, and still there was something in the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, that didn't read as ordinary at all.

Julian caught Edmund's warning glance and delivered the apology on cue. "I'm sorry, brother. I was too sensitive. I was just scared. You do understand, don't you?"

Dorian glanced at him. The performance was transparent, plain as glass. But the household and the fiancé seemed determined to look straight through it. Love was willfully blind.

"Yeah. I know."

Julian blinked. He'd been trying to bait Dorian into going on the attack, and he hadn't expected someone who looked this hard to roll over this easily. "What?"

"I understand. Fear is good."

Dorian had rephrased, just slightly.

Julian's face nearly broke. It sounded like mockery. He had no proof.

Eleanor ached at the sight of Julian so careful, so small. Before Dorian had appeared, Julian had been her treasure, and she could not bear to watch him twist like an outsider in the house that had always been his. "Julian, don't be afraid. You will always be our child. The young master of this family."

She didn't know what kind of person Dorian was. She had no energy for finding out, and no wish to. If he'd been eight or nine when they brought him home, she could have built something with him, the shape of a mother's bond.

But Dorian was twenty. A whole person, with a mind and principles of his own. He might need their money. He did not need their love.

Dorian was a self-contained human being. Entirely.

Eleanor delivered the warning. "No one will take what belongs to you."

Edmund let it stand. He felt the same. Dorian, they were willing to support. To provide for. Anything beyond that was unlikely.

Dorian pretended not to catch Eleanor's meaning. He smiled, a thin flat surface. "Wasn't there supposed to be food?"

Patrick had the timing for it. He signaled the staff. Dishes appeared.

The dinner table was loud and silent at once. The family of three talked and laughed through their meal, warm and sealed and complete. Dorian sat to the side and ate without a word.

He'd known this was coming from the beginning. So why did it still land? Why did it still pull at something inside him?

The mockery turned inward.

-

The next few days kept Dorian busy. Busy choosing clothes and accessories. He could admit, now, that money made a difference. The fabric, the cut, the way things sat against the skin. A different universe.

Dorian found the whole exercise tedious. He had no need to fill an entire dressing room. But to Edmund and Eleanor, this was a matter of face. The eldest young master of the Port Haven Vanes could not be seen with an empty closet.

He had been brought home. He would be properly kept.

Dorian's style clashed with the Vane aesthetic, and neither Edmund nor Eleanor bothered to correct it. He was being provided for. He wasn't expected to produce anything. He could keep himself however he liked.

Dorian made a symbolic selection, a handful of pieces, then waved it off. The ordeal was over.

"Sir. Your dressing room is still empty." Patrick felt obliged to point this out.

Dorian didn't look up. "You said I could follow my own preferences. I prefer it empty."

Patrick opened his mouth, and Dorian cut him off before the first sound. "That's enough. I have things to do. I don't have time for this."

"Then allow me to arrange everything on your behalf." Patrick was persistent. The task had been given to him by the lord and lady. Completing it was a matter of professional duty.

"Do nothing. I'll speak with my parents."

One sentence removed the obstacle. Patrick didn't argue. He led the staff and the racks out and shut the door.

It was summer break. Dorian had planned to work through it, earn his tuition. The Vanes had thrown his schedule sideways. He'd already called in sick for two days, and his boss's voice on the other end had made it clear the patience was wearing through. Today, whatever else happened, he had to show up.

No employer took kindly to a new hire who started with two days of no-show.

The Vane estate sat some distance from his workplace. But the Vanes had money. Patrick arranged a car and a driver.

Dorian experienced, once again, the quiet shock of convenience.

He'd found a summer job at a milk tea shop in the shopping center near campus. He had the driver let him off in the underground parking, took the elevator up.

Susan Park finally set eyes on the part-timer who'd taken two days off before working a single shift. She'd been ready to be angry. She'd been ready to deliver a pointed lecture. And then she saw his face, and the anger simply dissolved before it reached her mouth.

With that face behind the counter, business was about to explode.

The speech Susan had been sharpening rounded a corner. She clapped him on the shoulder. "Work hard."

"Yes, ma'am." Dorian was sincere. He was in the wrong here, and not getting chewed out was already more than he deserved.

He changed into the uniform, tied the apron, fixed the mask over his chin. The effect was immediate. Just standing there was enough to pull every glance in the room.

Susan looked him over from different angles. "Not bad. Not bad at all. The kid's got a face."

The women on staff were all stealing looks. "Manager! He's new?"

"That's right. Summer help. Everyone look out for him, yeah?"

A woman stepped forward. "Hi! I'm Wendy. Wendy Marsh."

"Hey. Dorian."

"Dorian! Marcus Lowe. Anything you're not sure about on the machines, come ask me."

"Thanks. Appreciate it."

Five or six employees clustered around him, the air warm and buzzing. Susan checked the time and clapped her hands. "All right, everyone! Mall opens at ten. Let's get moving!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Dorian, you're new. You had the basic training, but if anything comes up you don't know, ask. Don't wing it."

Susan's concern was not specific to Dorian. It was universal to every part-timer she'd ever hired. There had been incidents. She was tired of mopping them up.

Dorian nodded. "Understood."