As Turner waited for the heavy door to slide aside and let him into the clan’s secure parking area, he didn’t feel as if he was coming home, he felt like a visitor, or rather an intruder.

The sticker allowed him access to the section of the keep that non-clan members, meaning humans, were barred from. Not that the building’s other occupants were aware of the extensive underground compound, or suspected those residing on the upper floors, where the regular elevators didn’t go, of being anything other than richer and snobbier, residing in apartments that were more luxurious than those on the floors below.

After having been treated with suspicion and caution for so long, he would need time to get used to his new access privileges. There would be no more stops by the security station and no more waiting for Bridget or one of the Guardians to come get him. It was straight up to her apartment, which he now shared, and would soon be sharing also with her son.

This was not one of his best ideas. In fact, he should not have agreed to have his apartment turned upside down. New furniture and some colorful rugs would have done the job, and Bridget could’ve been living with him. He could’ve invited Julian to a nice dinner at a restaurant, and that would’ve been the extent of their interactions.

Instead, he was bracing for the awkward first meeting with his lover’s grown son. It wasn’t that Turner had a problem with new people—he handled new clients and other business associates with ease. The difference was that their expectations of him were limited to his expertise, and they were well aware of his excellent track record. His natural charm or lack thereof had no bearing on their decisions to hire him for a job or join his network of sub-contractors.

What the hell was he going to talk about with Julian?

Bridget’s son was a complete stranger, who would probably not regard Turner favorably. Hell, what chance did he have of winning the guy over if connecting with his own son, on any level, was still a struggle?

Douglas possessed average intelligence, was into team sports, and had no hobbies, unless hanging out with friends over beers could count as one. His son was interested in none of the subjects Turner was.

After Douglas had joined Special Forces, they finally had something in common. But then there was very little they were allowed to talk about, so that didn’t solve the problem. At their semi-annual meetings, they usually ran out of topics of conversation in less than an hour.

It was painful. For both of them.

And now he would be forced into the same situation with Bridget’s son—the difference being that the torture was not going to end with them going their separate ways after one uncomfortable dinner or lunch meeting. They were stuck living together in the same apartment.

Maybe Julian could find a vacant apartment in the keep. After all, Kian was starting to move people to the new place so there should be vacancies.

Which reminded Turner that he still had a confession to make. He hadn’t told Kian about discovering the clan’s new location yet. Maybe he should go to the guy’s office right now and get it done with. If Kian killed him on the spot, he would at least be spared the awkward meeting with Bridget’s son.

Right.

With a sigh, he got out from the elevator and headed for Bridget’s apartment. She’d given him a key, but he still felt uncomfortable using it. Especially today.

Taking a deep breath, Turner schooled his features into an impassive mask and knocked.

The young man who opened the door was tall, handsome, and looked nothing like his mother. Except for the eyes. They were the same color, blue with flakes of green swimming on the perimeter, but where Bridget’s were serious, his were smiling. In fact, he looked a lot like Kian sans the countenance of someone who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Turner, I assume?” He threw the door wide open and offered his hand.

Turner took it, not expecting to be pulled into a bro embrace, complete with rigorous backslapping.

Well, at least the guy was friendly.

“I’m Julian, as you must’ve deduced. Come in and take a load off.”

“Thank you.”

Another backslap. “Hey, you’re not a guest, you’re a roomie. Don’t thank me.”

“Hi, Victor.” Bridget walked into the living room and headed straight for him.

Not knowing how to act around the son, Turner waited for her to set the tone. “Hi, to you too.”

She kissed his cheek. “I see that you and Julian have already done the introductions.”

He nodded.

“I’m going to whip us up something for dinner.”

“How about we order takeout instead? I can go get it.” A round trip to bring food would shorten the time he had to spend socializing with Julian.

Bridget smirked. “So you can get away? I prefer to make something healthy at home.”

“I’ll help you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Come on.”

Turner let out a breath and shrugged off his jacket, then hung it on the back of a chair.

“What can I do?” He rolled up his sleeves.

Pulling the fridge door open, Bridget took out a head of lettuce, several tomatoes, cucumbers, and an onion. “You can chop veggies for the salad.” She put down the load on the counter and handed him a cutting board.

“I can do that.” Turner pulled out a knife. “Do I need to wash them first?”

“They are already washed.”

“Big chunks or small chunks?”

“Small. It's going to be a Mediterranean meal. I hope you like hummus.”

“I do.”

“Good. I’ll heat up the frozen fake meat shawarma.”

“Blah,” Julian said from the living room. “I hate the fake stuff. One day I have to take you to my favorite shawarma place. Real shawarma is made with turkey and veal, not soy.” He walked over to the counter, pulled out a stool, and straddled it. “I’ve eaten shawarma all over the world, and this place is the best.”

Turner lifted the board with lettuce he’d chopped and pushed the small bits into the salad bowl Bridget put next to him. “I didn’t know medical students got to travel so extensively.”

“They don’t. I took a year off after high school and backpacked all over. I figured I’d better see the world before diving into studying for eight more years. Then I decided to do it again after graduating college and before starting medical school.”

Lucky kid. Only the privileged could indulge like that. For others, like Turner, the only way to see the world was to join the army. “Smart choice, if you have the funds for it.”

“My mom is the best. She funded it without me having to beg too much.”

Bridget snorted. “He started the campaign in tenth grade. By the time he graduated he’d worn me down. The second time I told him he had to get into a medical school first.”

“Naturally, I got in.” Julian blew his mom a kiss. “As she knew I would.”

Turner finished chopping the tomatoes and added them to the bowl. “You must’ve been a good student.”

“Top of his class,” Bridget said. “Julian knows how to work hard, but he also knows how to have fun.”

Julian seemed a little uncomfortable with the praise, which made Turner like him even better. For a few moments, the sounds of chopping were the only ones to disturb the silence.

“Mom tells me you’re interested in extraterrestrials,” Julian said in an obvious attempt to veer the conversation away from his accomplishments and his mother’s boasting. “Did you read Jacques Vallée?”

Turner paused his chopping to glance at Julian. “Of course. He is the only one that makes any sense. What sparked your interest in the subject?”

Julian shrugged. “If you think about it, a lot of sightings and encounters can be explained by mind manipulation. I thought that perhaps immortals were responsible for them. I knew it wasn’t anyone from the clan, and it didn’t make sense for the Doomers to be doing it. Alien theories are not beneficial to their agenda. Except, maybe for the religious apparitions. So if it wasn’t us and it wasn’t them, then maybe the sightings could lead to other immortals? We were always searching for more survivors. I hoped this could lead us to them or at least give us a clue where to look.”

“A logical assumption. What did you find out?”

Julian sighed. “Not much. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the resources to launch a full-blown investigation. Kian is too much of a realist to fund something he believes is man-made nonsense. I started reading everything I could about it and found Vallée’s theory the most fascinating.”

“I agree. And you’re right about suspecting immortals. If sightings and encounters are indeed the product of mind manipulation, then your kind is the prime suspect.”