Chapter 8

Freddie

A s they walked back to the hotel, Freddie silenced Anthony with a low grunt of "not here" every time he opened his mouth to ask a question. It wasn't safe to talk in the open. As a bonus, it gave Freddie a few minutes to find an explanation for what Anthony had seen. Although he wracked his brain, he hadn't come up with anything convincing.

Once the door to the hotel room closed, there was no stopping Anthony.

"What just happened?" Anthony stood framed by the doorway, his arms crossed and his face flush with rage and confusion. Freddie didn't like that he'd caused that anger, but it was all to keep Anthony safe. That was what was important.

"They tried to kidnap you. I stopped them." Freddie loosened his tie and sat by the desk. He was acutely aware of the high wire he was balancing on. He needed Anthony to trust him, but he couldn't betray the existence of vampires to a human, even the coven master's nephew.

"Don't play coy with me. They hissed at us. That one growled at you."

"They were weirdos."

"And...and goatee guy moved faster. Faster than…well, I don't know, but it wasn't normal." Anthony's confusion warred with his anger, and Freddie wished so badly to lay everything out for him. But he wasn't allowed.

"I didn't notice that." That's the answer Freddie decided on. Weak, but better than the alternative.

"I know what I saw! That was insane. They weren't hired guns."

"The Azarians are crazy." Freddie shrugged. "Always have been."

"That doesn't explain anything. Are they the mob? Are they a cult?"

"...a little of both."

Anthony's face scrunched in anger. He was barely holding it together, and Freddie was helpless to diffuse the situation without saying more than he should.

"No!" Anthony was almost yelling. "Absolutely not. We're not doing that. These people are more than stalkers or deranged fans. What kind of horrible shit is Oliver involved in? Why would they try to kidnap me?"

"Leverage."

"For what? What do they want?"

"I don't know. Business dealings. I'm just security." Freddie cringed inside. He knew it was the right thing, but the deceit made him feel dirty.

"You're just security ? Come on Freddie, I'm not stupid. You're like some super soldier or something. When you threw the guy with the goatee, fucking Brian, there were cracks in the wall behind him. That's insane!"

"I work out." Freddie chuckled. That Anthony thought of him as a mutant army commando tickled him. And turned him on a little.

"God, you are infuriating!"

Freddie didn't respond. What could he say? Anthony grabbed the hotel phone from the nightstand and put it to his ear.

"What are you doing?" Freddie asked. If Anthony tried to get the police involved, he'd have to stop him. They would make everything a thousand times more complicated.

"I'm ordering room service, dammit." Anthony's voice took on a sickly sweet tone. " Caro , send up a burger and fries. Rare. Well, as rare as you'll cook it, then. A double order of garlic fries and a side of mayo."

He hung up and stood by the phone, staring at Freddie. Freddie felt raw and exposed under his glare.

"And what were those things you said? You're older? You had maybe a decade on them, sure, but what did your age have to do with anything?"

"Sometimes, uh, guys like that are intimidated."

"By how old you are?!?"

Freddie shrugged. It was warm in the room for some reason. He reached up and took his tie all the way off, unbuttoning his top button. After a moment, he reconsidered and removed his jacket entirely.

Anthony stared at him, and when Freddie didn't respond, he continued, his voice shaking with angry frustration. "Something was weird with them. What aren't you telling me?"

Freddie still said nothing. It's not that he wasn't able to lie, but this was different. There was a burning in his chest, a physical pain at the thought of deceiving Anthony. He'd done that enough. He wouldn't make up some elaborate falsehood. Eventually, Anthony might find out the truth, and for every lie he would hate Freddie more.

"Answer me!" Anthony moved closer to him. "You said that I'm yours. What was that?"

Freddie didn't have a response. He wasn't sure why he'd said that. The Azarian coven master asserting a claim on Anthony had activated a deep rage in him. If Anthony hadn't been standing there, he would have slaughtered the three of them. To hell with avoiding an international inter-coven war.

That disturbed him. Freddie always kept his emotions on a tight leash. Losing control worried him. He couldn't protect Anthony, or his coven, if he was flying off the handle.

"Listen to me," Anthony's voice came out harsh and broken. "I don't have people in my life I can't trust. People that hide things from me. People that take away my ability to make informed decisions. And I certainly don't kiss them. So forget what happened out there. I misjudged you."

The words hit Freddie like a freight train, and as usual, he stood there and took the impact. This was no alley fight, though, and Anthony wasn't some punk vamp. This hurt.

Anthony grabbed his light beige coat from the closet and threw it on.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you. Don't follow me."

Anthony was out the door and down the hall. Freddie would go after him, of course, but he'd stay hidden. He moved to the window and pushed it open just enough to allow him to squeeze out, pulling it closed behind him.

The brisk, cool breeze coming off the bay cleared Freddie's head. What was his next move? He had stopped Anthony from being kidnapped, but his charge had seen too much. He'd ended up pushing Anthony away, and he didn't know how to get back whatever trust they'd had.

It was dark enough now that Freddie would go unnoticed on the rooftops. Freddie kept his eyes trained on Anthony as he exited the hotel, although it was unnecessary. Anthony's scent was so strong and distinct to him, that delicious citrus and leather, that he could have tracked him blindfolded.

The two kids that the Azarian coven master had sent to kidnap Anthony had been ridiculous. They were 80s stereotypes of punk vamps, and their reactions had been the uncontrolled flailing of the very young. They had to have been turned less than a year ago.

Brian had been older, but still a baby compared to Freddie. As the head of security, Freddie would never have sent new vampires out to capture a hostage. Baby vamps lacked control. They had trouble keeping their emotions in check.

Like he should talk. What the hell had he been thinking, kissing Anthony? No matter what Master Hughes had said, getting involved with someone on a job, with the coven master's nephew , was a terrible idea. Anthony had some kind of hold on him, and no good would come of it.

Anthony turned onto a side street. Jumping to the top of a nearby pharmacy, Freddie landed lightly on the tarred, flat roof.

He was out of his depth. He'd always looked down on his coven-mates who pestered Master Hughes about every insignificant problem, but he didn't have a choice. After a moment of deliberation, Freddie reached out with his mind.

Master?

Despite being several hundred years old, Freddie wasn't nearly as powerful as Oliver Hughes, and it was quite the distance from California to England. He waited for the response. Once his master boosted the signal, they could speak normally.

Freddie. I can count on one hand the number of times you have called for me in our long years together. What's wrong?

As Freddie spoke, he kept his eyes trained on Anthony, who had stopped to peer into the window of a bookstore.

We were attacked.

Report.

Three vamps, Azarians. Two very young, the third more experienced. They cornered us in a secluded area. I fought them off. All still alive.

Too bad, but probably for the best. And Anthony?

Physically fine.

And?

Anthony continued down the street, and Freddie followed, leaping across several rooftops. It wasn't a problem to keep up. Anthony was wandering as if he had no clear destination.

He doesn't trust me. The vamps were indiscreet.

What does he think?

Not sure. He knows something was off.

Give me a moment.

Freddie's mind went quiet as his master's consciousness departed. A few more leaps, and he was practically on top of Anthony, who was standing in front of the Whistle Stop, a historic-looking gay bar with 1950s-style signage. Anthony ducked inside as Freddie watched from the roof.

Freddie considered whether to follow him in. He could tuck himself into a dark corner without being seen, but he doubted the vampires he scared off today would be back. Anthony should drink in peace.

Plus, it was a gay bar. The thought of watching Anthony flirt with other men made his stomach burn. Which was ridiculous. Anthony didn't owe him anything. But that didn't tamp down the flames inside.

I spoke with Daniel. He isn't sure how Anthony would react to finding out about you, and about his uncle and me. For a creative, he can be painfully literal-minded.

Freddie didn't answer. An uncomfortable unease bubbled inside of him at the thought of Anthony discovering the truth of who he was. How would Anthony see him? Would he be disgusted?

Freddie?

Yes.

I can tell that something is wrong.

I'm doing my job.

You always are, Freddie. That doesn't mean that you are an automaton.

I'm worried.

About?

He'll see me as a monster.

Master Hughes paused. A wave of his master's compassion washed over Freddie.

Your family was wrong, Freddie. They were wrong about you, and they should have treated you better.

Freddie's chest tightened reflexively. He didn't know what to say. He didn't want to think about his family. The hurt was still too present, too deep, even after centuries. And they hadn't been wrong. He was a monster. He'd done terrible things.

He could never see you as a monster, Freddie, as long as he knows you. The real you. If he trusts you, he'll come around.

He doesn't trust me. Freddie felt himself floundering. This was the whole reason Master Hughes had sent him on this assignment, for him to develop his ability to handle people. So far, he was a massive failure.

He will. I know you. You'll do what needs to be done.

Freddie didn't answer. Anthony would never come around now.

Regardless, standard operating procedure. Don't tell him about us unless it's impossible to hide, or necessary to save his life.

Yes, sir.

Reach out if you need me.

With that, Master Hughes was gone, and Freddie was alone, crouching in the shadows on the rooftops of San Francisco.