Chapter 19

Freddie

T he remaining time in Barcelona was quiet, with no hint of a threat from the Azarian coven. Freddie distracted himself from his growing unease about the trip to New York by taking Anthony on every romantic excursion he could think of. They visited the Sagrada Familia, the Picasso Museum, the gothic quarter, and stepped foot in every Gaudí building in the city.

And the food! So much paella . So much gelato. So much jamón . Although Freddie didn't need to eat, and didn't beyond a few bites here and there, he adored feeding his mate. The look of ecstasy on Anthony's face when he bit into the perfect croqueta was maybe the sexiest thing Freddie had ever seen.

The time together brought out a different side of Anthony. Freddie loved Anthony's mischievous bent and his hot temper, but the sweet moments they shared were a wonderful surprise. Soon enough, though, they would have to enter the lion's den. They couldn't escape it.

Anthony, Freddie, and Gabriela sat together on the trip back to the US. Anthony and Gabriela chatted like old friends the entire flight, as Freddie calmed his anxiety by sorting through their security measures.

Three of Freddie's team from the London coven would be waiting at the terminal for them. Freddie's plan was to play the visible heavy, and ask his coven-mates to stay hidden. There would be no sightseeing in New York. They would either be at the hotel or at the opera house, and Freddie would be by Anthony's side the whole time.

The plane was entering its descent as Freddie pushed away his obsessive rumination. He found Anthony and Gabriela engaged in a heated, whispered game of "what animal are the other passengers?"

"He's a giraffe, no question," Anthony's voice was deadly serious. "Look at that neck. And that huge ass tongue. Why does he keep licking his lips like that?"

"A giraffe?" Gabriela's face was incredulous. "His nose is so skinny and long. I agree on the tongue, though. He's an anteater."

"An anteater! What do you know about anteaters? They don't even live on your continent!"

"You think we don't have books? Besides, I went to university in Mexico, and got my master's in Texas."

"Texas!" Anthony clutched at imaginary pearls.

"Why do you think I speak English so well?"

"You have a grad degree? In what?"

"Futurism."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's the science of predicting the future."

"Why are you working as a dresser?"

"I didn't want to get a P.h.D. to teach, and there aren't a lot of other jobs in the field."

"Who could have predicted that?" Anthony asked in a sarcastic tone.

Freddie chuckled, and both Gabriela and Anthony turned their heads towards him. Anthony leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"What do you mean?"

"You were lost so deep in your thoughts that you didn't answer the flight attendant when he asked if you wanted pretzels."

Freddie furrowed his brows. "Oh."

"It's okay." Anthony grinned. "Now that you're awake, do you think that dude over there is a giraffe or an anteater?"

Thankfully, at that moment, the front wheels of the plane touched down, ending the conversation with a bump and a screech.

Freddie recognized the three vampires in black suits waiting for them at the baggage claim. Two of them, Rose and Lillian, were twin sisters, both of them tall and Black with dark brown hair. Rose wore her hair short, almost to the scalp, while Lillian kept her's down, straightened, often in a ponytail. Freddie knew them to be smart and insightful. They'd led several complicated investigations for the coven, and Freddie trusted them to keep Anthony out of danger.

The third was Garrett. It wasn't often that Freddie questioned his coven master's judgment, but Garrett? He was a killing machine waiting to be pointed at a target. Anyone who had ever called Freddie quiet should meet Garrett. He avoided speaking. He was loyal to the coven, but still. Garrett wouldn't give a shit about protecting anyone once he got into a rage. His only purpose in a fight was carnage.

Freddie feared few people alive, vampire, human, or otherwise, but he'd hesitate before going head-to-head with Garrett. Short, tan, bearded, and built like a spark plug, the man excluded an aura of strangeness. He had seen no evidence, but the rumor in the coven was that Garrett had been turned not as a human but as some other paranormal species. Perhaps a werewolf, or even a redcap.

When they reached the three, none of them said anything. At first, Freddie was confused, until he realized they were all staring at Gabriela. Freddie nudged Anthony, who immediately figured out the problem.

"Uh, Gabriela, will you go on to the hotel?" Anthony asked. "These are some, uh, business associates of Freddie that we need to meet with."

There was a flash of something on Gabriela's face, perhaps anger at being dismissed, but it was quickly gone.

"Of course," she said. She nodded to the group and headed off toward the busy taxi stand.

The vampires stood in silence as Gabriela walked away, her burgundy carry-on rolling by her side. Anthony rolled his eyes, but Freddie knew it was prudent. Once she was out of earshot, Rose skipped the introductions and dove right in.

"Any developments?"

"No. We'll proceed as expected to the Hotel Burton Midtown." Freddie clocked the frustration on Anthony's face. "Anthony, this is Rose and her sister Lillian from the coven. That is Garrett."

Rose and Lillian nodded. Garrett did not.

"Rose and Lillian, the two of you should plan on staying hidden." Freddie was all business. "Report back anything suspicious."

"And if we see one of the Azarians?" Lillian asked.

"Take them out. We're not taking any chances. Try to stay quiet, if possible. And no going rogue, Garrett."

Garrett let out an annoyed grunt.

Rose gave him a sharp look. "We'll keep an eye on him. There's a black car out front. We'll follow you to the hotel."

"I can't have all of you hanging around during rehearsal," Anthony said. "And I'll have Gabriela with me most of the time. She's my dresser and my friend, I won't send her away."

Anthony was already annoyed at the situation. Freddie had hoped this would go smoother.

Lillian led the vampires off, speaking without looking back. "We'll stay out of the way. You won't see us again unless the worst happens."

As Anthony watched the group walk away, Freddie removed their luggage from the carousel.

"The all-black looks are a lot," Anthony commented. "Do members of your coven always dress like some weird mix of CIA agents and mafiosos?"

"Master Hughes likes the uniformity of it."

"Unless you're hiding in the shadows, a gang of people in black suits sticks out."

"Vampires don't need clothing to camouflage themselves."

"All the more reason to add a dash of color."

Freddie chuckled, stacking the luggage and wheeling it towards the exit.

"I'll pass along the feedback."

The Hotel Burton was lovely, if nothing spectacular. The room was spacious, with simple but luxurious furnishings in gray and chrome. The bathroom floor was heated, which made Anthony happy.

They were in bed within the hour, with Anthony's head tucked into Freddie's armpit. The feeling of rightness suffused Freddie as he lay there. Neither of them were in the mood for more than sleeping, with Anthony on edge about stepping into a major role in two days, and Freddie worried about keeping him safe. But despite the uncertainty, Freddie felt a deep satisfaction that Anthony trusted him with his life. Anthony might not be a vampire, or even fully believe in the idea of mates, but Freddie's body coursed with the need to protect his beloved.

Although Freddie didn't sleep, having Anthony snoring into his side was the most restful sensation he'd ever experienced. When the sun peeked through the hotel's sheer curtains, he jostled Anthony awake.

They arrived at the Manhattan Lyric at ten in the morning, standing for a long moment outside to take in the huge, elegant opera house. It was overwhelming, built in the 1920s in the Beaux-Arts style, with arched windows, balustrades, bas-relief panels, and sculptures of figures from Greek myths. It exuded a bluster of enforced permanence. While the Opera La Rambla projected a cozy antiquity, this building was yelling out "I exist!" to the entire world.

Freddie heard a hitch in his mate's breath as they surveyed the landmark. He reached out and grabbed Anthony's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"It's just so much, you know?" There was a scratchiness to Anthony's voice. "I've always dreamt of being here. Part of me thought it would never happen. "

"You're here because of your talent and hard work. You deserve it."

Freddie turned to Anthony as a tear trailed down his cheek. Freddie wiped it away.

"Never doubt it, my love," Freddie whispered.

Anthony smiled, his eyes bright. Freddie kissed the track on Anthony's cheek, tasting the sweet saltiness. "Let's go inside so you can be a star."

Anthony giggled and nodded.

It was good they took the moment outside, because once they arrived at the rehearsal studio, there was no stopping. Anthony had weeks of rehearsal to catch up on. The assistant director for the production, Tara, was a no-nonsense woman sporting a long mohawk she'd put up into a braid. She ran Anthony through his blocking with brutal efficiency. Freddie sat in a corner of the large, rectangular room, sending Anthony little bursts of silent support any time he seemed confused or overwhelmed.

In the afternoon, the conductor came in and hit the big musical ideas. He was a bearded, chubby man with a rosy complexion, and he was an extraordinary pianist. The polar opposite of Maestro Alamilla, he covered all the important moments while still encouraging Anthony to explore.

To Freddie, Anthony seemed more in his element, although it was obvious there would never be enough time. Anthony needed to trust his own instincts. Freddie was certain that if he did, he would give an incredible performance.

At the end of the rehearsal, a short bespectacled man in his sixties with a bland featureless face entered the room, crossing to Anthony and shaking his hand.

"Good to have you, young man." His voice was a tad too nasal to be pleasant.

Freddie watched as Anthony's shoulders tensed. "Happy to be here, Mr. Fitzpatrick."

"Call me Henry. I may be the general manager of the most important opera house in the world, but I'm not that conceited."

From the smug look on his face and the gold Patek Philippe watch around his wrist, Freddie surmised he was, in fact, that conceited.

"Okay…Henry."

"Who is that?" The little man shook his head dismissively at Freddie.

"That's my bodyguard."

"Aren't you a bit early in your career to be needing security? You're no Anna Netrebko."

"Uh, yes, well, I've had some issues…"

"He cannot be backstage during the performance."

"Oh, I—"

"We've had the most famous singers in the world tread the boards here, Antonio, and any entourage has always watched from the audience. You'll have a few seats reserved in the front row, house right."

"Um, I guess—"

"There won't be any problem with this, will there, Mr. Bianchi?"

Anthony swallowed. "No. Of course not."

Freddie clenched his jaw, biting his lip to prevent him from saying anything. His instincts screamed that he needed to stay as close as possible, that they couldn't risk being separated, but he didn't want to jeopardize Anthony's big break.

"Your dresser is waiting in the costume department with the designer. You'll get a quick fitting, and she can go over your changes."

Anthony nodded slowly, looking down at the floor. Freddie could tell he was feeling overwhelmed.

"Wonderful. Glad to have you on board."

Mr. Fitzpatrick strode out of the rehearsal room like a towering monarch, despite his short stature. Freddie found himself irritated. No one got to manipulate and control Anthony, not even the general manager of the Manhattan Lyric.

"I don't like this." The words were out before Freddie could stop them.

"It will be fine." Anthony smiled, but Freddie knew that it hid the fear and anxiety that he himself was feeling.

"Maybe you can talk to him again, try to convince him—"

"You heard him, Freddie, his mind is made up." Anthony shoved his score into his shoulder bag with too much force, straining the canvas. "This is just how it is."

Freddie wracked his brain, running through potential attack scenarios. "I could hide up on the catwalk."

"That would be better than being in the audience? You'd be the same distance away. Maybe farther."

Freddie paced around the now-empty rehearsal room, full of uncharacteristic nervous energy and needing a place to put it.

"The backstage is enormous. I'd blend into the shadows. No one would realize."

Anthony shook his head. "You don't think Mr. Fitzpatrick won't notice that your seat is vacant, after he specifically forbade me from having you backstage? And again, how far away will you need to be to stay hidden? There are plenty of areas where the first row is closer than where you'd be."

"There has to be a solution that keeps you safe."

Anthony closed his eyes, sighing, and pulled his chin to his chest, stretching his neck. "I don't see it, Freddie. You'll just have to be in the audience."

Freddie came to an abrupt stop by the black upright piano. This was not acceptable. His purpose was to protect Anthony. If he couldn't do that, he had no purpose at all.

"This isn't worth it. It's not safe."

Anthony's face went blank. "This is the most important job of my career so far."

"You'll be in danger."

"I'll be fine."

"No." Freddie began to pace again, caught in his roiling worry. "If I can't be by your side to protect you, you can't do it."

Anthony's eyes flashed, and he clenched and unclenched his fists.

"You think because you've had your dick in me you can dictate what I do? Just because you declare that I'm some sort of magical boyfriend for you, I have to follow your rules? Fuck that. This is my life. I make the decisions. You're either okay with that or you can get out."

Freddie froze. He knew he was treading on thin ice, but every drop of his vampire blood cried out to safeguard his mate. His demon was screaming.

"Anthony, please—"

"No." He turned his back to Freddie, starting out the door. "I have a fitting. Either come along and support me, or leave. I honestly don't care."