“Precautions?” Antoine blinked when it hit him. “Sera is not in heat. I would know if she was receptive.”
Callum laughed. “You would if she were an aristocrat.”
Antoine’s blood drained downwards and froze.
Callum laughed louder, drawing the attention of the three vampires on the stage, and clapped a hand down hard on his shoulder.
“I’m just kidding. Elite still have mating cycles, just like the aristocrats.”
Antoine rose from his seat and scowled at him. “I find your jokes quite distasteful. It is no wonder I have never taken the time to share a glass of blood with you.”
“Come on, Antoine,” Callum said but he cut him off with a glare. A reminder. Callum held his hands up and sighed in resignation. “Fine, I get it. You’re still the boss... no bad jokes.”
Antoine huffed again and stormed towards the double doors that led backstage, intent on heading to his office there and finding some peace so he could get his head straight at last. Sera was under his skin, intoxicated him whenever he was near her, but he still had his doubts about her and what he was doing. It would be too easy to go along with whatever was happening between them, blindly sinking deeper into something that could end up destroying him. Anya stood at the back of his mind and in his heart, a shadowy reminder that things he thought were going well could so easily go wrong.
“Antoine,” Callum called out and he stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Thank you for everything though. I really do appreciate it.”
Antoine nodded and pushed the doors open. They swung shut behind him, closing with enough force that the sound echoed around the black-walled double-height room. What if Callum was wrong about mating cycles? He frowned. A thousand years old was too young for starting a family, especially with one who was probably not a day over thirty.
It wasn’t just the nine hundred odd years’ age gap that kept his blood cold in his veins though.
Bloodlust was genetic.
He would pass it on to any children he might produce.
The desire to be alone intensified but he ignored it, knowing what he really needed to soothe the tempest in his mind, and climbed the stairs to the second floor where his apartment and those of his three friends were. He paused outside his mahogany panelled door and then continued along the black and gold hallway to Snow’s.
“Enter,” Snow said before he even had time to knock. He twisted the brass knob and pushed the door open, revealing Snow reclining on the black covers of his bed in only his boxer shorts and an open black robe. “I wondered how long it would be before you came to check on me. You spiked a few minutes ago. Did Callum say something upsetting?”
Antoine would never get used to the incredible strength of his brother’s senses. It always astounded him when his brother told him everywhere he had been and who he had been speaking with while there.
He closed the door and crossed the wooden floor to Snow’s bed. Snow settled his open book on his stomach, pages face down. Antoine’s gaze flicked to it. War and Peace. A little light reading. The spine was cracked and worn. He would need to buy Snow a new copy soon. He wasn’t sure how many times Snow had read it now, or how he could stand to read the same novels over and over again when there were so many new ones out there. Snow liked the classics though. Antoine could remember his brother reading to him when he was a toddler, telling him Nordic stories of incredible gods and worlds beyond the imagination, and tales of things he had seen during his travels. Snow was more than just a brother to him. He had been like a father too, the age gap between them meaning that Snow had been fully grown long before Antoine had been born. Snow had raised him with his mother, leaving their father free to focus on his business and on protecting their entire family.
“How is your female?” Snow gave him an expectant look.
Antoine hadn’t come here to talk about her but he couldn’t help himself now that his brother had mentioned her.
He sat on the edge of the bed, side on to Snow, and rubbed his hand over his face and then his dark hair, trying to think about where to start.
“She is well... excited about the party tonight.”
“Something is troubling you, Brother.” Snow sat up and placed his book on the ebony bedside table. Antoine noticed the chafing on his wrist as the sleeve of his silk robe rode up his arm. Snow smiled. “Do not worry about me too. You have enough worries. You fear she will hurt you.”
Antoine had never been able to hide anything from his brother. Not his monumental joy at having found a woman he had thought would become his eternal mate, and not his crushing agony on discovering that she had disappeared without a trace.