Chapter Eight

IT had to be close to 7:00 a.m. Avery wandered down to the kitchen while Tyson slept. He was thirsty, and he wouldn’t mind some of the leftovers they’d brought back from the restaurant that night. Last night. Avery smiled. Tyson had treated him to a delicious midweek dinner out, then an even better stress-relief massage, followed by another round of sex, which just got better and better even though he wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Hence his thirst.

He’d seen a back staircase from the upstairs hallway that he assumed went down to the kitchen area, like most back staircases in old mansions did. He thought it might be faster, and he wanted to get back in bed with Tyson as soon as possible.

Avery started down the far less grand back stairwell. It was still beautiful; the walls were painted a medium yellow, and the wood on the risers was polished and lustrous. There were art prints hanging on the wall, just like everywhere else. Avery ran his hand along the banister and checked out the art… and then he saw something that made him stand stock-still in the middle of the landing.

There was a painting there. Both style and signature told him it was a Basquiat—an artist whose original works were worth millions. Millions. While the painting was obviously Basquiat, Avery had never seen it before. Not even when he was writing a paper for art history on his favorite painter, poring over slides and examples to use in his oral presentation. Avery knew every Basquiat. And this one was… new.

What the hell?

He stood there staring at the painting, wondering if he’d honestly lost his mind. He’d been so thorough with that research, he thought he knew every piece backward and forward. But not this one. He wished desperately that his phone wasn’t plugged in upstairs or he’d sneak a picture of it. Avery was shaken and very confused. Tyson was obviously rich, and his family before him. But that rich? Rich enough to have an unknown painting like that? He supposed someone in Tyson’s family could have been friends with the artist, but what were the chances? And how did literally nobody know?

He tiptoed the rest of the way down to the kitchen to get water, since he couldn’t think of anything else to do other than stand there and stare at a painting that would be worth tens of millions easily, hung unceremoniously in a back stairwell, only to run into Mrs. Peggs. She was bouncy as always, dark hair in a high ponytail, and dressed in track pants and a pair of sneakers. She was brewing the tea he’d seen her drinking the few mornings he’d been there and up early enough. It didn’t smell very good. Avery wondered what was wrong with a good bag of English Breakfast.

“Morning, Mrs. Peggs.”

She jumped. “Oh, you frightened me, dear. Where’s Tyson?”

“Still asleep. I was thirsty, and I thought I’d bring our leftovers upstairs for breakfast.”

Mrs. Peggs’s forehead wrinkled for just a moment at the mention of food, but then she gave him one of her signature sunny smiles. “That’s good, dear. I’m sure Tyson will love that.”

Avery was dying to ask her about the art, but he knew it would be seriously out of line. She might not know anyway, so there was no point. He’d ask Tyson. Mrs. Peggs smiled one more time and then bounded out of the room with her odd-smelling tea and left Avery to stare contemplatively at the somewhat dated refrigerator.

The painting, the tea, this enormous monster of a house, the lack of eating until Avery made a point of watching. What was going on? He wanted so desperately not to notice; he didn’t want there to be a problem with Tyson. Tyson was so amazing in so many ways. But there were red flags, and he’d be an idiot if he kept ignoring them. Even if he desperately wanted to.

Avery heated up their leftovers and poured two glasses of water. A quick search found a tray that he could pile the food and water on. He decided against going by the Basquiat painting again. It would be too tempting to stare, and he’d probably end up standing there for far too long. Instead he went up the grand staircase in the main area of the house and found Tyson sitting up and scratching his head.

“Morning,” he said in that rough morning voice Avery loved.

“Morning. I heated up our food from last night.”

Tyson smiled warily. “How long have you been awake?”

Just long enough to see your priceless original art and have an odd exchange with your housekeeper, who never seems to actually clean.

“Not long.”

“Well, come get back in bed. Let’s eat. Pasta is always so good the next day.”

Avery couldn’t agree more. So he pushed down the weird feelings once again and handed Tyson the tray so he could clamber onto the high bed, and he settled into a slow morning of leftovers and kisses and instinct avoidance.

By the time he left for campus, though, he couldn’t get it out of his head. He didn’t know where to start looking. He knew there was something off, but what? What questions would he even ask?

Avery had some time before his first lecture, time he usually used to prepare his notes, but that day found him in his office frantically googling Basquiat paintings, hoping he was bad at research when he’d been back in school. He knew that wasn’t the case, he’d always been meticulous, but there was hope. Then he looked up symptoms—gorgeous, pale skin, no eating, moods can run hot and a little cold, which Tyson tried to hide but Avery had definitely noticed. He knew what he was going to find, and it was fucking ridiculous. It was. But Avery didn’t know what other conclusion to come to. Either Tyson was a reclusive twenty-seven-year-old gazillionaire who was beautiful and collected art and cars that only a rich grandpa could love, or else…

He was a vampire.

Avery felt like a moron for even thinking it. It was a myth, and he was being stupid. But with someone like Tyson, someone who was very obviously not an average guy? He supposed there were about a million explanations. Too bad he couldn’t find one that added up.

THERE’D been something different about Avery since that morning he’d gone down to the kitchen for leftovers. Tyson would’ve had to be blind not to notice it. But he wanted to pretend there wasn’t something off, because even if Avery was giving him a weird vibe, even if he hesitated once or twice before kissing Tyson in the past couple of days, Tyson still was the happiest he’d ever been in his entire life. He was feeling so much that he didn’t know what to do with it. He felt like he couldn’t contain it in his body.

He was currently sitting in bed, not asleep, watching Avery breathe. He was beautiful in the early morning sun. He’d have to wake him up soon so he wouldn’t be late for his lectures. Avery’s bag was perched in the corner of the room, as well as a change of clothes. Tyson liked the idea that yesterday’s clothes were strewn over the stool in his closet, that Avery’s razor was on his sink, that he kept a toothbrush in the vanity. At least as of last night he did. Tyson reached out and brushed a hand down Avery’s spine.

“Hey. You should get up soon if you don’t want to have to rush.”

“Mmmph.” Avery turned and snuggled his face into Tyson’s hip. “Don’t want to go to work.”

Maybe Tyson was seeing tension in Avery where it wasn’t. At the moment, Avery was so sweet, so pliant, it felt like he’d imagined his hesitation the night before. Tyson tugged at Avery’s hair.

“I’ll call the university and tell them that Professor Cook canceled his lectures and all the students don’t get to learn today. He doesn’t want to go because he’s tired from sex.”

“No, no.” Avery giggled. “I have to go mold impressionable young minds.”

“What are you teaching today?”

“Acadians. Lycans. Anything to add to that?” Avery asked. “I know I asked you before and you didn’t answer, but you seem to be the authority on, well, everything.”

Okay. He wasn’t imagining it. There was something funny in Avery’s voice. Like he was baiting Tyson. He couldn’t have… found something, could he? What was there even to find?

Tyson shoved him gently. “I am not. Stop it. It’s time for you to get up, though.”

“Oh, sigh. I have to go take a shower in your incredible bathroom that might as well be a spa. Woe is me. I miss my crusty old bathtub with the rust stain.”

“Want me to shower with you?” Tyson asked.

“Yes. But no. I need to get my ass ready to go.”

Tyson couldn’t help it. He curved his hand down over Avery’s ass. Avery had to still be a little wet and ready from last night. “Feels pretty good as is to me.” Tyson brushed a finger over Avery’s hole. “Feels amazing, actually.”

“You’re filthy. I need to get up. At least that’s what you said.” Avery smirked and slid off the bed onto Tyson’s wooden floor.

Tyson treated himself to the view of a naked Avery tiptoeing around the room, getting his school clothes and his aftershave and grinning at Tyson before he went into the bathroom to shower.

By the time he came out, Tyson was partially dressed in some pajamas and his house slippers.

Avery rolled his eyes fondly. “Must be rough to be an heir. Lounging at home in your huge hereditary manor while the rest of us toil away.”

“I work hard at it.” Tyson grinned. “I do spend time managing my money.”

“Oh yes. Must move the piles of gold around so the peasants don’t get suspicious and steal it.”

Tyson laughed out loud at that. He tugged Avery in for a hug and a single lusty kiss. Then he pulled back and stared down at Avery.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“What?” Avery asked.

“You just… make me really happy. That’s corny, I know, but you do. I haven’t ever done anything like this before. I can’t believe this is real.”

Avery smiled and laid his freshly washed head on Tyson’s chest. “Me neither. You make me happy too, you know.”

Tyson squeezed him one more time and then let go. “C’mon. I’ll walk you down. It should only take you about ten minutes to get to campus from here. Maybe not even that. I still wish you’d let me drop you off.”

Avery rolled his eyes. “I think I can manage the many, many blocks all by myself.”

“Do I get to see you tonight?” Tyson asked.

“Yeah. I can manage that. I think Macy wants to hang out too, so you’ll probably have to go socialize with the hoi polloi.”

“You’re hilarious.”

THAT night, they decided to forgo dinner and just grabbed a snack before heading out. Avery hadn’t spent so much time having cocktails and being, like, social in his life. He was starting to get used to it. Even starting to enjoy it as its own thing and not just a means to be around Tyson.

He got friendly waves from Brooke and Dan, and a couple other familiar smiles from faces he was starting to remember week after week. The night was much like any other at first—chatting and drinks and warm cozy feelings, but sometime around twelve, things started to get weird.

Avery had gotten very attuned to Tyson’s moods over the past few weeks. He’d spent so much time with him that he felt when Tyson was even so much as a little tense. When the front door of the club opened and a group of tall, broad men came in, right away, Avery noticed there was something sinister about them—they seemed wrong somehow. Dan shared a quick glance with Brooke, and the two of them rounded the bar to meet them and clearly tried to run some interference.

One of the men made a hand gesture, and Brooke choked. She gripped the bar, with her face turning red. The man tightened his hand, and she looked like she was about to pass out. Dan went to save her, but he was stopped too. Tyson and then Donovan leapt out of the booth.

“What’s going on?” Avery asked.

“Stay here. Do not get up, no matter what happens. Don’t draw attention to yourselves.”

Tyson wove his way through the crowd, with Donovan trailing behind him. He got to the men and, without even flinching, pushed the one making the hand gesture. Brooke breathed again, and Dan collapsed against the bar.

“Get the hell out. Your kind isn’t wanted here,” Tyson said. His voice was low and growly, but Avery heard it all the way across the bar.

“What the fuck?” Macy looked terrified. Avery reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

Donovan and Tyson got right in the faces of the creepy men with sallow gaunt faces and oily black tendrils of hair.

“You know you’re not supposed to be here,” Donovan said. “I’m going to make a phone call in about thirty seconds. If you’re not gone, you’re going to have a hell of a lot more to worry about than me and him.” He flipped a thumb in Tyson’s direction.

Avery had never seen such an angry side to Donovan. Or Tyson, for that matter.

“What are they, the unofficial bouncers?” Macy muttered.

“I have no idea.”

He wished he knew what the hell was going on. There were two things he was certain of, though. Those men? Those tall, creepy oily men? They absolutely weren’t human. And second? They were clearly terrified of Tyson.