Winter's Knight

Chapter 1-2

Candlelight flickered against honey-gold irises that narrowed in cunning suspicion. “Give ‘em s**t for me? Why? You want me to meet you here every Christmas, now?”

Lucian stopped himself from requesting they meet here every week. That might be a bit transparent. Instead, he casually shrugged one shoulder while his heart pounded in his chest. “Well, I’d never wish to put you out.” Shea kept studying, and Lucian sweated beneath his suit. His nod to John, however, was slow and polite. John set the whiskey on ice in front of Shea, along with the water, and Lucian waved John away with one finger.

Shea looked at the glass. “Tryin’ ta get me drunk before the food. Hmm.” Shea deftly picked up the water with his left hand, the wrist banded by two inches of black leather watch. Lucian tried not to stare at it, or any one part of Shea, for too long.

“Though, knowing you,” Shea began, trailing off and pouring half the water over the whiskey.

“Ah, yes. Knowing me,” Lucian repeated, the words nearly inaudible.

Shea eyed Lucian, and hefted the drink to gulp a swallow. “Yeah, I might need ta be loose for this talk. You got that pine-cone-up-your-ass look.”

“Do I?” Lucian asked, amused.

“Oh yeah. A whole fuckin’ tree’s worth. What’s up? Three years and now you call me?”

Shea’s tone was full of banter, but guilt still filled Lucian’s cracks and crevices. He crossed his arms and rested his elbows on the table. “My apologies. I have no mentionable excuse.”

“Mention—” Shea started.

“How’re the girls?” Lucian interjected, smoothly. “And Shelby?”

Shea heaved a sigh and sat back in his chair, and Lucian noted tiny scars, some pink and some red, criss-crossing Shea’s thick fingers. “Fine,” Shea said, resigned. “We’ll play it that way, then. Shelby’s still spoiled rotten, and he doesn’t give a s**t. Lana and Claire are fine, and Kristy’s gotten fascinated with cow t**s. Dad’s pretty proud of her. Mom asked about you when I refused to go home for Thanksgiving.” Shea paused, expression arch. “How’re the boys? And Clark?”

“Chance is well,” Lucian said, ignoring the sarcasm and referring to his blond, brazen business partner. “Spending a lot of time dealing with manufacturing contracts for his family’s company and driving me crazy with his whims for Club Break. You know how he gets when fixated on some particular hunk of metal and chain.”

“Uh…yeah,” Shea said, and the subdued tone made Lucian look hard at Shea, note the tenseness of jaw and brow. Perhaps Shea had lost patience with Lucian’s interest in kink. Lucian still remembered the Christmas he told Shea about his idea for the clubs: Bliss, a massive cathedral-shaped dance club atop a ridge, and Break, a high-profile b**m club beneath it. Lucian had been raised in an environment where power exchange was as common as dirty laundry, and one of Lucian’s goals in life was to provide environments where such activities could be done well and right by all parties involved.

Lucian and Chance had the funds, and they’d found their architect in Tim Akkard, a military friend of Maxwell Clark’s. Clark used to be a trainer at the dojo where Lucian and his Academy friends took classes. An ex-special forces officer, Clark was the man Lucian tapped to check backgrounds of potential club members, among other things. Lucian had told Shea the entire plan all those years ago, and they’d spent hours discussing the land preparation, alone. Shea even used to listen to Lucian’s rants about Scene with passing interest, but maybe that had waned.

“Chance is still with Ryuu,” Lucian continued, casually steering the conversation elsewhere. “And I’ve no idea how they put up with one another. Tim’s good. Still solitary and sturdy. My bodyguards are busy, my housekeeper keeps fussing at me to eat more protein, and Clark is irritating but effective, so I continue to allow him to breathe.” Lucian poured himself more wine. “Especially since he’s acquired a rather formidable partner. I trust you heard about the shooting at NAU?”

“I did.” Shea straightened. “That professor guy who shot the lunatic is Clark’s new f**k?”

“No,” Lucian said with enough emphasis that Shea jerked. “Daniel Germain is Clark’s new partner.”

“Oh.” Shea’s eyes narrowed in quick calculation. “I didn’t think Clark’d ever…”

“Find someone who could love, match, and top him?” Lucian relaxed against the bench with a slow smile that hurt his cheeks. “It did seem impossible. Daniel manages beautifully, though. And Clark’s…Well. It’s all quite impressive.”

Shea watched Lucian with a stare that would make eagles nervous. “Impressive. Right.” Shea took another slug and sat back, obviously waiting for Lucian to get on with it. Lucian endured the scrutiny with the experience that came from enduring his father’s gazes. The truth was that ever since he’d seen Clark and Daniel, Lucian couldn’t get the idea of “together” out of his head. For a horrifying moment, Lucian was sure that Shea not only knew why they were there, but that Shea had agreed to this date for no other reason than to tell Lucian he was insane for entertaining such notions. Lucian talked himself out of panic and drained his wine.

“You, treating an aged Cabernet Sauvignon like Kool-Aid?” Curiosity tinged Shea’s thoughtful tone. “What the hell’s got you so rattled?”

“Absolutely nothing, I hope,” Lucian answered, and when John reappeared and curtailed Shea’s next question, Lucian jumped at the distraction. He danced John through hoops: specials, drinks, options, appetizers, specifics. Lucian ignored what he would swear was amusement glinting in John’s dark eyes, and he didn’t dare look at Shea.

“Very good, sirs,” John said when every possible detail had been managed within an inch of its life. He nodded, pivoted, and fled. Lucian watched John go, glanced at the gift hidden under his jacket on the seat, and tucked his hair behind his ears. With the nervous gesture, he felt the intent of Shea’s study shift, and he wasn’t surprised when arms crossed Shea’s chest and a challenge seemed to rise between them like an invisible gauntlet. Shea knew some game was afoot, and his patience was wearing thin.

“May I ask how work is going?” Lucian asked softly, denying the voice in his mind screaming that he was being a coward. “Office construction and site preparation, isn’t it?”

“It’s been good. Real good. Boys know what we’re doin’, so it goes fast, and I don’t get no crap questions.” Shea’s answer sounded routine, almost tired, with a fiery lick of defensive anger fueling the words. “I like it. Like seeing things I’ve built standing strong.”

Lucian briefly closed his eyes, savoring Shea’s way of speaking. Shea possessed an intelligence quotient that would make Hawking wince but spoke like a kid from a Gehnbatton street gang. Lucian had never been able to disguise himself like Shea, and in that instant, Lucian realized with startling pain how much he’d missed being around and listening to Shea.

“I’m thrilled you’ve found something you enjoy so much,” Lucian said with more honesty than usual.

“You are?” Shea leaned forward, eyes widening in surprise. “s**t. You are. Goddammit.”

“We’re disappointed?” Lucian asked mildly, trying to catch up and loving that he needed to catch up. God, he’d missed that, too.

Shea snorted. “You just fuckin’ blew my wild-assed guess out of the water.”

“I did?” Lucian asked, but he saw it now, and understood why Shea was so defensive. The corporate mastermind going from executive track to heavy hauling mule. Lucian, politician, mover, shaker, and friend of the Ollivander family, out of touch for years until he had a moment of pity to spare his old friend who obviously needed—

“Yeah,” Shea barked. “If you’re not here ta offer me a goddamned proper job, then why the f**k are we here? And don’t give me that Christmas bullshit, and if you ask me one more question without giving up some—”

Lucian snatched the gift and placed it center stage between them. Shea’s mouth shut with an audible snap. There was a protracted pause, and Lucian watched Shea go from nervously irritated to hesitantly curious in less than two seconds.

“What the hell is that?” Shea asked, poking the box with one finger.

“A flesh-eating zombie virus tied with a bow,” Lucian said with a straight face. Clark would have been proud.

Shea’s single laugh was loud. “Then you open it.” He grinned, lopsided and entirely disarming.

Lucian nearly melted in his seat, and didn’t trust his voice. He nudged the box closer to Shea.

“Well, if I start eatin’ brains, you’re first.” Shea pulled the present to him before stripping off the ribbon and ripping open the paper. He frowned at the leather box inside, tipping open the heavy, hinged lid. Shea stared at Cartier’s answer to the current wide-banded men’s accessory craze like he wished it really was a vial of zombie virus. “It’s a watch.” Shea’s gaze flicked to Lucian’s. “Why?”

Lucian petted the tablecloth. “Do you remember the Raquelle Christmas?”

“Of course.” Shea’s usually rough tones turned soft, and he looked away from Lucian, down at the watch.

“I do, too. Often. But probably not for the reasons you think.”

“Really?” Shea prompted, an odd edge to his quiet voice that Lucian had to disregard or else he’d never get through this speech.

“I was lost after he killed himself,” Lucian said, matter-of-fact but rusty. “I really thought that I could save him. I’d never encountered anything that some combination of brains and power couldn’t change, if not fix, and I’d never gotten to love anyone like that. Somebody I met who didn’t know anything I present to the public eye. Somebody who saw me.”

“Yeah…” Shea said.

Lucian liked the reverent quality to Shea’s voice. It helped him continue. “And so, when I couldn’t save the cross-dressing druggie call boy,” Lucian huffed a laugh, “I came home for Christmas and found you.”

“You sounded pretty rough when you called me that night.” Knuckles went white around the box.

Lucian ran fingers through his hair. “If by ‘rough’ you mean ‘drowning in cheap whiskey’, then, yes. And you came to meet me in that bar, listened to me whine about some other man—”

“Yeah,” Shea coughed. “Shocked the f**k out of me.”

“Oh?” Lucian asked, hoping for some insight from Shea’s side of that evening. Hoping that maybe Shea could forgive Lucian for putting Raquelle, a fascination that turned into a project inspiring possessive love, in front of Shea: the man whose very existence fueled Lucian’s resolve that he could have saved Raquelle in the first place.

“Hell, yeah. I thought you were halfway to engaged to Prom Queen Lacey, f*****g Jennifer on the side, and Katy, Jessica, and Sidney were all confiding in sweet, gay Shea that they were all sure they were gonna hang perfect Prince Luke’s heart on their mantle.”

“For the record, I only f****d Lacey once,” Lucian said, letting Shea continue to be the only human alive who was allowed to call him ‘Luke’ without reprimand. “In those days, I never saw the point in f*****g anyone more than that.”

Shea rolled his eyes. “Right. So finding out you switch-hit was kinda memorable, but I don’t remember no watch bein’ involved.”

“Patience.” Lucian waved one hand in a dismissive gesture and ignored Shea’s glower. “As I was saying, you listened, got me in a cab, and took me home.”

“Yeah, and…?” Shea prompted when Lucian stopped yet again to try to work saliva into his mouth.

“And we never talked about the rest because you assumed I was too drunk to remember, and I let you assume.”

Shea froze, and Lucian almost reached for him but stopped in the nick of time. When Shea moved again, it was to take another drink of his whiskey. “What do you remember?” he asked the ice in his glass.

“You getting me into bed,” Lucian answered, the confession easier if it somehow answered Shea’s question or put worry to rest. “Lying there and wanting to cry. You turning off the light, starting to go, and me grabbing your arm to get you to stay.” Lucian schooled his voice to keep from stuttering. “You held me. Told me it was okay, and I cried for the first time since I was three and my father beat me bloody every day for two weeks because I had the nerve to weep at my mother’s funeral.” Lucian met Shea’s pained eyes. “So, most of it, I think.”

“Sounds like.” The pad of Shea’s thumb rubbed against the edge of his glass, and Lucian wondered if Shea still had the worry stone he used to keep in his pocket to stroke when he was nervous or thinking. Lucian waited for Shea to sort everything out, happy that the wine had dimmed the anxiety to mere resignation.

Finally, Shea sighed and asked, “And I’ve been all right with what happened, but what does that have to do with a freakin’ expensive watch?”

Terror welled in Lucian’s core. This was the part in the movie where the impossible, but oddly likable ass, revealed his hand, and Lucian wished he’d stuck to the part of the puppeteer villain instead. He watched the snow pile up outside, thought of sledding and snow angels and the way Shea’s arms felt around him. So safe and warm and right. “You used to wear a cheap digital watch. Loved it because it was practically indestructible. Before you got into my bed that night, you took it off, and you forgot it the next day.” Lucian ground his teeth. “I still have it. Thought that since I’m obviously not honorable enough to return it, I should…” He gestured to the gift and continued, quickly. “And there are others, actually. That’s the fourth watch I’ve bought for you over the last ten years and haven’t given you. If you’d like the entire collection, do let me know. One as penance for every Christmas I’ve not called, perhaps.”