Byzantine Heartbreak (9 page)

The star field through the window directly over the head of the bed instantly oriented him.

Ryan’s bed. Again. He must have fallen asleep—or Nayara had made him sleep. The end of her tale had taken longer to tell than either of them had anticipated, for she had stopped and started, the words difficult to find and speak aloud. Ryan had sat in the darkest corner of her office, not helping. He had been a silent, even darker shadow. Had he been ashamed of the moment of complete vulnerability she had been painting, as she sat there in her velvet and sequins and spoke in her soft voice of unrequited, desperate love and a woman who had thought herself badly wronged, but still insisted on returning a celebration day favour despite the hurt she felt?

Cáel glanced at his wrist to check the time and saw that it was bare. “Time?” he called out, wondering if the computer had been synchronized to his voice.

“Oh three hundred and thirty-two hours,” the computer replied, in a pleasant contralto. It was just gone three-thirty in the morning. He had been asleep for about ninety minutes. The cat-nap would be enough for him to keep going a few hours longer and he wanted the rest of the story—Ryan’s half of the story—before either of them decided story-telling was done with for the night, or forever.

Cáel threw back the covers to slide out of bed and paused.

He was naked.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his pulse settling and reasoned it out. He had been wearing a five thousand dollar evening suit and Ryan was picky enough about his own clothes to know the value of the suit. Unlike last time, he wouldn’t have wanted Cáel to sleep in dress pants.

Who had stripped him down
? Did it really matter? The act had been meant in kindness. Considering the wholesale intimate probing Ryan and Nayara were exposing themselves to, this was nothing.

Cáel spotted his clothes hanging neatly over the back of a tall chair, a few feet away. His watch and other possessions were sitting on the seat. So he got up and dressed in the semi dark, then walked back out into Ryan’s office. The door obligingly opened for him and he blinked at the lights from the office. Tiredness pulled at him, despite the nap. He would have to sleep properly, soon.

Ryan and Nayara were sitting in chairs at either end of the coffee table that sat in front of the sofa, all grouped under the window with the view of earth. They looked up as he entered. They had changed clothes while he slept. They were wearing what Cáel considered their usual work wear. Ryan was in black once more and Nayara still in green, but it was one of her business robes. Boots peeked out from under the hem. She had her feet up on the edge of the coffee table and a reading board on her knees.

“I want the rest of the story,” Cáel told them. There was no point in prevaricating. “You can’t leave it there and not tell me the rest.”

Nayara blinked. It was her only reaction.

Ryan gave a small smile. “You know how it ends, Cáel. There’s no suspense.”

Cáel stepped right over the table and sat on the sofa between them. “You don’t see it, either of you. It’s your lives, so you can’t step away from it. I know this is private information you’re sharing and that doesn’t help you see how truly fascinating it all is to this human who is listening to it. I suspect millions of readers will find it just as fascinating as I do.”

Ryan rubbed his temple with his long fingers. He looked awkward. “If you insist,” he said at last. “For right now, I can only do this if I am telling a friend. As soon as you make this about telling strangers, Cáel, it makes it impossible.”

Cáel held up his hand. “This friend is pleased you can do that much. I’ve known you for nearly a year now and this is the first time I’ve got more than a hint from you about anything more distant than yesterday. I’m pathetically grateful.”

“Has it been a year?” Nayara asked, sounding surprised. “Why, yes, it has, hasn’t it? Your time trip was around the time Tally went back to Bannockburn and met Rob.”

Ryan was still rubbing at his temple. “You’re beginning to understand just how different vampires are from humans, Cáel.”

“Bullshit,” Cáel shot back. “I’ve known many vampires and none of them are as closed off as you two.”

Ryan’s hand dropped and his eyes widened.

Cáel heard Nayara’s tiny intake of breath.

Cáel drew in air, fighting for calm. “My apologies,” he replied. “I am tired. That is my only excuse.”

“You don’t have an excuse,” Ryan said. His voice was quiet and Cáel couldn’t tell if it held menace or was calm. “You meant to say exactly what you said. Don’t try to apologize for the truth. It belittles both you and the fact.”

Cáel swallowed. He sat very still. Waiting.

Nayara sat up and put the reading board on the coffee table. “I’ll get more coffee,” she said, in a tone that sounded like she was agreeing with Ryan, even though he hadn’t spoken.

“Thank you,” Ryan said.

When the outer door to his office had closed behind her, Cáel looked at Ryan. “Does she read minds?”

“Vampires can’t perform psi tricks on other vampires unless they’re in human form,” Ryan replied. “It’s a nice privacy shield, but damned inconvenient at times. Why?”

Cáel shook his head. “You two operate like two halves of one whole at times. Are you aware of that?”

“We’ve known each other a long time. It happens.”

Cáel let the silence stretch and waited again. He wasn’t going to press again. Not now. He was aware that he had pushed his luck far enough. It was up to Ryan, now.

Ryan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Now I understand Nia’s reluctance. This is...difficult.”

Cáel let out his breath. “She came to you, after speaking to Salathiel, yes?”

Ryan nodded. “That was one of the worst five minutes of my life, waiting for her that day, wondering what she would say...”

* * * * *

Constantinople. 1443 A.D.

Nia swept into the grand main room and her appearance tightened Ryan’s gut and body, reminding him of highlights of the night just past. He could recall the taste of her flesh, the feel of her in his arms, how her body had fitted against his, how it had felt to slide into her, over and over again.

She didn’t look like a seventeen year old maiden today. She wasn’t wearing the simple tunic and mantle, with her hair down to her waist and free like a girl’s, as she had been yesterday, or the day they had first met. Today she was wearing the sort of high fashion that was expected if one was going to the markets. It was very European and colourful. The kirtle was tight, skimming her trim figure, while the gown over the top hugged her breasts and seemed to lift them up, while trailing down to the ground in drapes of green, purple and red silk.

Her hair was pinned and coiled and respectable and golden earrings dangled from her ears. Nia was stunning and every inch a lady.

She stood in front of him and called for Anya, her personal servant, and Hyaleus, the manservant who protected her on the streets.

“Where are you going?” Ryan demanded, his heart jumping in fear.

Nayara rested her hand on his shoulder. Her touch was light. “I’m going out of my way to tell you where I’m going for the day.”

His breath, as he drew it in, shuddered. He was too shocked to speak. A thousand questions bloomed, too fast for him to find the most important one to ask first. But along with the questions grew hope.

“I’m going to the markets for the day,” Nia added. “I won’t be back until lamplight.”

She turned to Anya as the serving woman arrived with her cloak and bags and outdoor sandals and the big sunshade for Nia. “Ready?”

Anya nodded.

“Gather the others and wait for me at the door,” Nia told her.

Anya moved into the foyer and waved to Hyaleus, indicating he should come with her.

Nia turned back to Ryan. She gave him a small smile. Her eyes, usually so revealing, were giving away nothing. “I’m removing myself from the equation,” she told him.

Ryan caught her arm as she turned away. “Not forever,” he said and he couldn’t help the questioning note that emerged.

“Just until lamplight,” she told him.

But he couldn’t leave it at that. He drew her back to him and kissed her. It was intoxicating. How had he lived without these kisses for a year? How had he lived with her and merely imagined what they might be like? His imaginings had been poor substitutes.

“Ryan,” she protested breathlessly when he released her.

“I’m sorry. I could find no other way to say it. And it had to be said.” He stepped away from her. “I hope your market day is a pleasant one.”

Her smile was jittery. “Yes...well...” She turned and glided away, graceful and erect, her head held high, her shoulders square.

Chapter Eight

Salathiel was waiting for Ryan in his room. He wore his tunic from the day before, the sleeveless one that showed the muscles bunching and playing in his tanned and corded arms. The tunic was old and stopped above his knees.

He was barefoot, still. He stood at the window, looking out over the shutters that covered the lower half of the open window. The dome of St. Sophia was visible, shining in the bright morning sunshine. It was going to be a dazzlingly beautiful day.

Salathiel turned to face Ryan. “She sent you back.” He took a steadying breath. “Neither of us deserve her.”

“Yet you just might get to keep her,” Ryan said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “She said she will return at lamplight.” He came to a halt in the middle of the room, unable to move any closer to Salathiel. Reluctance had suddenly mired his feet.

Salathiel watched him slow and halt and pushed himself away from the window. “Ah, the testing moment, vampire.”

Ryan frowned.

Salathiel moved toward him. “You have been roaming the world for more years than you care to name even to me. Freedom is a heady taste. It’s like wine. It grows on the tongue. You’ve been free a good long while. And now, after going where you want, when you wish, for a year you have found your heart anchored and that has halted your wandering ways.”

Salathiel moved behind Ryan and he could feel the man’s body, very close. He could feel the human’s heat. Ryan’s heart began to beat, all by itself. His body, still recovering from the sensations Nia had produced, began to thrum all over again.

Salathiel was not much taller than Ryan. But he was tall enough to lean in from behind and murmur in Ryan’s ear. “Now you find yourself tied to a human.”

The clip holding the tunic together on Ryan’s shoulder was pulled out, releasing the folds of fabric. It was enough to let the other side of the tunic slide down his other shoulder and on to the floor. Salathiel pushed the tunic away with his foot, leaving Ryan naked once more.

Something fluttered out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see Salathiel’s tunic land on top of his own.

Ryan’s pulse leapt.

Salathiel’s hands settled on his hips and Ryan gasped at the contact. The heat from Salathiel was astonishing.

“Your heart is committed,” Salathiel said, as he slowly drew around Ryan, to face him once more. His big hands stayed on Ryan’s hips, swivelling around as Salathiel moved. “But now that you stand on the brink, you’re wondering what you’ve let yourself in for, if you can stomach being held to one place, if you will hold with being human once more. If you can accept love.” Salathiel looked him in the eye. “Is that why you could not cross the floor, Ryan?”

He was a glorious specimen of a man. He glowed with vitality, health and aliveness. His blue eyes snapped with fire and his flesh rippled with muscles.

 
“I have lived so many lifetimes more than you, Lathe, that I’m afraid to tell you how many least you recoil in horror. So why is it that you, the human, is reassuring
me
?”

Salathiel grinned. “Because you are the one who is troubled.”

Ryan sighed. “Yes.”

Salathiel curled his hand around Ryan’s neck and drew him closer. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispered and kissed him.

There had been near kisses in the past. Caresses. Fleeting touches. Heated looks. Just like with Nia, all of them paled when compared to this moment, the actuality.

Ryan groaned and let his senses drown in the kiss. He had anticipated this moment. Wanted it. Now the moment was here and it was as sweet as any he had shared with Nia last night.

Ryan let Salathiel draw him toward the bed. His heart, normally under his control, had become its own master. It was running a tattoo against his ribs, beating frantically.

Salathiel stepped backwards, his hand on Ryan’s hip tugging him a pace at a time. His lips did not leave Ryan’s as he moved.

Until they were standing at the edge of the bed. Salathiel let Ryan go and simply looked at him. “I did not think kissing you would be as good as it is,” he said simply. “Even though I have wanted to for so long.”

Ryan found the laugh rising to his lips naturally. It felt good. He reached for Salathiel, sliding his arm around Lathe’s waist. “Lathe, you’re a beautiful man.”

Salathiel frowned. “No, I’m not. Even Nia says I’m not. My nose is too big, my chin too wide. You, on the other hand—”

Ryan shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about appearance.” He gave Salathiel another quick kiss, but it turned into a long, lingering sensual one. The mood changed between them. Passion flared.

Ryan could feel the rising of nearly a year of wanting and lust, waiting to be fulfilled, starting to drive both their bodies. Now that he was free to touch and take, his mind was filled with possibilities, with potential. His hand trembled as he stroked Lathe’s body, sliding his hand down to cup the man’s hard buttock and squeeze it. He was rewarded with a groan and the shift of Lathe’s hip. The jerk of his pelvis, which made his rigid shaft brush softly against Ryan’s hip. The delicate brush was like the touch of a chill breeze on a hot summer’s day. It sent ripples down Ryan’s spine and tightened already screaming nerves to fraying point.

Salathiel was the first to fall to his knees and Ryan clenched his jaw to hold back a deep moan as Salathiel slid his hands the length of Ryan’s thighs.

The first touch of Lathe’s hand around his member drove Ryan’s hand into his hair, to curl around his thick, wavy locks and clench. Ryan’s breathing became heavier.

Lathe’s lips slid over the tip of his shaft, driving him deep into his mouth. Heat and moisture. Delicious sensations slammed through Ryan’s mind and body. His hips jerked and he heard himself groan again. But Lathe didn’t spare him. His mouth worked his shaft with a knowing touch and Ryan’s pleasure swiftly built toward a stunning peak. He vibrated with the intensity of it. “Lathe,” he breathed. “Have mercy...”

But Lathe did not spare him. The climax blasted through Ryan like a volcanic eruption and he cried out as his body seemed to lock and drain in hard, furious jerks.

There was no chance for recovery or ease. His heart still thundered as Salathiel stood, a crooked grin on his face. “That was worth it, just to hear that sound from you.” His own shaft was thick with blood, dark with it, proving that Lathe had enjoyed himself more than a little. He circled around behind Ryan again, only this time, he was not nearly as cautious. His body brushed and bumped against Ryan, his shaft stroking his hip in a hot swipe of flesh that made Ryan shiver in reaction.

Lathe ran his hands up Ryan’s back. “You are so pale.”

“It comes from being a vampire,” Ryan said. “I can only withstand a little sun, especially here.”

“Your flesh is much whiter than a Byzantine’s,” Lathe said. “It’s not just the vampire in you.”

“It’s the Celt in me,” Ryan replied. He caught his breath as Lathe’s fingertips brushed between his buttocks. Then the big hands were on his shoulders, pressing on him. Pressing him over. Bending him.

Excitement flared in him as he realized what Lathe intended to do to him next. “You will need oil,” he said and his voice was hoarse with the pleasure already building in him.

“I have it,” Lathe replied. “I found it while I was waiting for you to return. How long have you had it hidden away here in your room, waiting for a moment that might never happen, hmm?”

Ryan closed his eyes as he balanced himself with his hands on the edge of the low bed. “In truth, I forgot it was there.”

Lathe pushed Ryan’s feet apart with his own. Even that simple movement brought a thrill to the pit of his stomach as he was exposed to Lathe’s gaze.

Then the touch of the oil, warmed from Lathe’s hand. Lathe let it drop gently between Ryan’s cheeks, then his finger spread it. The touch of his finger was enough to make Ryan clench and bite back a deep groan. His shaft was hardening once more. His heart was thrumming.

Lathe spread the oil with leisurely, teasing strokes, from his anus down to his sac and that touch was almost more than Ryan could bear. He gripped the edge of the bed and gritted his teeth, fighting to remain still. “You’re killing me,” Ryan muttered.

“You can’t be killed,” Lathe pointed out. But he at last gripped Ryan’s hips with his big hands and Ryan felt the touch of the thick end of Lathe’s shaft against him. The pressure increased and then Lathe was inside him—and the pressure transformed into a deep pleasurable building lust.

Ryan gasped, his grip on the bed tightening. He heard the rip of fabric under his grip but was unable to loosen his grasp. Not now. He was held by the rising tide of need.

Lathe groaned as he thrust. “Too much. Much too much.”

“This time,” Ryan breathed.

“
Gods
!” Lathe cried. His thrusting increased. Deepened. Ryan could feel the trembling in the man.

“Come for me,” Ryan coaxed.

With a roar, Lathe climaxed, slamming himself into Ryan in good, hard strokes.

Then Lathe withdrew and fell on the bed, curled up on his side and Ryan could see he was shaking with the lingering effects of his pleasure.

Ryan eased himself onto the bed beside him and rested his hand on Lathe’s shoulder. He could feel the trembling through his hand. “What is the matter?” he asked.

Lathe covered his eyes with his hand. For a long minute he lay silently, the shaking growing worse. Then he swallowed. “I’m
happy
,” he said, sounding anything
but
happy. He pulled his hand away from his eyes and Ryan was startled, for his eyes were swimming with tears.

“Why do you not sound happy, then?” Ryan asked.

“Because I’m terrified for what the lamplight will bring.”

* * * * *

The Agency satellite station. 2263 A.D.

Cáel waited while Ryan signed reading boards, took calls, answered messages and completed a dozen other tasks. Sleep threatened but Cáel forced himself to stay awake even though by his internal clock, dawn was coming and it had been a long, astounding night full of revelations. He wouldn’t take back a moment of this evening, but he did envy Ryan and Nayara their lack of need for sleep, food and rest.

Ryan stood up and moved around the desk, dousing the light that shone directly over it and strode toward the sofa where Cáel sat waiting. “I mean this in the most respectful way, Cáel, but do you intend to return home at any time in the next few hours?”

Cáel shook his head. “You said ‘clear your calendar’. I did. I am at your disposal until however long it takes to hear your tales, you and Nayara.”

Ryan halted, five metres away from the coffee table, surprise etching itself across his face. “When did you do that? I didn’t see you send any messages.”

“At the ball, not long after you made the conditions of this bargain clear,” Cáel replied. “I intend to live up to my side of it.”

Ryan perched on the arm of the chair that flanked the table. “I also meant ‘how”. How did you send the message? You barely left the table except to dance with Nia, or to talk to Lyle Bean.” He lifted a brow. “Ah. You did it then. You work fast, Assemblyman.”

“I’ve learned the value of efficiency.”

“Your affairs will not suffer from your absence?”

“If they did suffer from a few days absence, my affairs aren’t structured well enough and I need to know that.” Cáel shrugged. “My people are all good people. They’ll cope.”

Ryan smiled. It was a warm expression that caught Cáel by surprise, for it touched his eyes and made them seem far less remote. Far more...human. “Then we’d better find you a change of clothes and some food.”

“Breakfast would be wonderful,” Cáel admitted.

They sat in Nayara’s office for breakfast. Espresso, fried eggplant and bacon and even Ryan and Nayara sniffed appreciatively as the tray was brought in. Cáel’s stomach rumbled emptily as he sat down.

“The news about the ball has been released to the nets, by the way,” Nayara said, as Cáel picked up his knife and fork.

“Bad?” Cáel asked.

She wrinkled her nose.

Ryan made a sound in his throat. Cáel didn’t know if it was a growl or if he was clearing it. Ryan looked annoyed.

“Brenden...not so bad,” she summarized. “But there are lots of long, slow close ups of Ryan’s incisors and the juice dripping down his hand. It doesn’t look good.”

Cáel sighed. “I have to believe any exposure will end up being worth it in the long run. Let’s move on.”

“’There’s no such thing as bad publicity’?” Ryan quoted. “Have you ever been the victim of a bad news cycle?”

“Actually, yes,” Cáel told him. “It will pass.” He took a bite of bacon and deliberately changed subjects. “What happened at lamplight?”

Nayara glanced at Ryan. “You’ve not told him that yet?”

Ryan shook his head. “The details take longer to tell than I thought they would.”

Nayara nodded. “You need more practice. You can tell him that part, too.” She sat back in her chair, moving it around so that she was facing Ryan just as Cáel was. She poured the thick black coffee into the demitasse cup for Cáel and dipped her finger into the liquid and licked it, then sat back again.