“I expect you’re exhausted after being out in the elements so long?” a beautiful Latino man with a pair of gorgeous eyes and lips said, stirring a cold glass of lemonade with a spoon before passing it over the counter to me.
“I’m fine,” I replied, sipping the drink. “Thank you.”
The kind-eyed man nodded and settled his gaze on me, watching me drink with near-alien fascination, before he turned and began to scour the interior of a fridge.
Until a moment ago, I’d thought he was human. Then I saw the rims around his brown eyes—nearly translucent but still there—and realized he was just the same as everyone else.
Did Elliot’s property house a clan of the Kaldr?
Guy had yet to return. From the depths of the house I could hear heated arguing—sometimes harsh, accented with barking exchanges, though mostly cordial. I’d guessed something was up when Guy hadn’t cared to elaborate last night or earlier this morning. I just hadn’t been aware of how serious the situation was.
“Don’t mind them,” the Latino man said. “Their relationship is… complicated.”
“You never did tell me your name,” I said, eager to stray in another direction rather than get caught in familial drama.
“Amadeo,” he said. “Amadeo Castallano.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you, friend. And you are?”
“Jason,” I said.
“The younger Winters’ lover?”
I blinked. “Was it really that obvious?”
Amadeo smiled. “Really,” he said. “It’s fine. I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”
“How did you know?” I asked.
“I merely suspected. Nothing more.”
I swished the lemonade around in my glass and took another sip. Amadeo, as if sensing my unease, returned to his various activities about the kitchen.
Nearby, a door opened, then shut. Guy strode into view and set his eyes on the pair of us. “Papa,” he said, nodding to Amadeo.
“Son.” The Spanish man nodded before disappearing out a side door.
Now alone, Guy settled into the stool beside me and ran a hand across his skull.
“Everything cool?” I asked.
“My father’s merely taken it upon himself to lecture me for my stupidity. That’s all.”
“Did you tell him about what I—”
“Oh, he knows, Jason. He doesn’t blame you. He blames me for not handling the situation properly.” Guy sighed and shook his head. “Can I have a drink?” I passed him the glass and watched him nearly down half of it before returning it to me. “He wants to meet with you later—if you’d be comfortable. He’d like to get to know you.”
“I don’t mind speaking with him,” I said.
Besides—truthfully, it was he who held the outcome of my fate, not Guy. I was ready to know whether I had a place here or if I was to be cast to the wind and let the fates decide my course.
We sat there in silence for a long time. Occasionally, he’d glance at me from the corner of his eye, but for the most part kept to himself.
This rift—
Whatever had happened, it surely wasn’t good.
I set a hand on his shoulder, the sudden urge to comfort him completely overwhelming.
He sighed. Muscles tensing, he stood and rolled his neck about his shoulders before he said, “Come on,” and reached to take my hand. “No point in sitting around here.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’ll take you to my room. We can get cleaned up. Then…” Guy faltered. “Then I can explain what the hell’s going on here.”