Frostbite Page 10

  Morgan turned back to face the cabin. Smoke rose from the roof in a long grey spiral before the wind caught it and tore it away. "I should do something about that. Get the fire extinguisher or something." He didn't know where it was. In all his poking around the cabin he'd never found one—barbed wire, yes. Flares, also yes. Fire extinguisher though? Nope. He couldn't get his legs to move. The ass of his jeans was soaked through and his entire body ached like he'd run a marathon. Something inside the cabin popped like a merry campfire and the smoke grew thicker. "Trevor is gonna kick my ass when I tell him."

  "My family will pay for it. It's my fault."

  Morgan was pretty sure that honor belonged to the asshole who had lit the fire.

  "Car?" Ezra held the car keys up again in one limp hand.

  "Yeah. Time to go."

  10

  "Holy shit," Morgan said. It was the fourth time he'd said it since they had arrived and each successive repetition got a little louder, the stress shifting around the syllables like a game of musical chairs. "You live here?"

  Ezra winced. "Yes."

  "Here."

  "Yes." He was tempted to hit Morgan just so he would stop asking.

  The questions had started as soon as they pulled up outside the high rise. The building soared above them, so tall that the upper floors nearly disappeared from view when looked at from street level. Mirrored windows ran up the sides and reflected the darkening blue skies. Morgan had stopped to inspect the topiaries growing in the granite planters outside the doors, hissing "These things are real" as he jabbed a finger into the dense greenery sculpted into the shapes of doves. Ezra had only rolled his eyes.

  Morgan barely blinked, too busy looking ten places at once. The doors slid open and Ezra led him on into the lobby—polished black marble from floor to ceiling and the art deco sconces that Ezra hated for the way they were shaped like judgmental eyes. They were judging him harder than ever now. He didn't want Morgan to join them.

  The guards didn't swarm them. Ezra had feared they might, but Seraphine must have briefed them. That didn't stop them turning in eerie formation to watch as Ezra strode through the doors. Morgan trailed after, looking as meek as Ezra had ever seen him. His steps slowed as he craned his neck to take everything in, stopping beneath one of the lights that hung like stalactites from the cavernous ceiling.

  "Fuck," Morgan whispered. The sound carried in the big room, echoing off the walls.

  Ezra grabbed his hand and towed him into the elevator and on to the next trial. He'd been dreading so many things about coming back, but he hadn't thought to worry about how Morgan would take it all. He regretted that now. Ezra should have prepared him somehow. Or maybe just run away to somewhere that Seraphine would never find them. Damn that promise.

  He punched the number for their floor and the access code. The elevator lurched upwards.

  "I can't believe this is where you live. I was expecting some gothic mansion with chandeliers and butlers not—" Morgan waved a hand at the elevator car, his reflection in the polished metal walls repeating the gesture, words evidently escaping him for the moment. Over their heads the floor number on the display reached double digits. The elevator hummed ever upwards. "Holy shit."

  Ezra really did smack him then. Gently, on the arm.

  "I'm just not used to this. It's gonna take some adjustment. How did you even get out of here with the secret service downstairs and everything?"

  "A great deal of practice," Ezra muttered. His stomach flopped as the elevator dinged and came to a halt. He snatched Morgan's hand as soon as the doors slid open.

  The foyer was abandoned as they emerged from the elevator, but that wouldn't last for long. Ezra had the impossible urge to tiptoe down the echoing, tiled hallway in the hopes that he and Morgan might make it to his room before anyone spotted them, but it wouldn't matter how quiet he was. The guards downstairs had probably called Seraphine the moment Morgan's car turned the corner. Or maybe the valet had done the calling. The little snitch. He'd hated Ezra for years, ever since the time Ezra had turned him down for a date. It probably had been him.

  "Aren't you going to say hello, little brother?" The voice echoing down the hall had the bass rumble of certain doom.

  Ezra pivoted to face his eldest brother, Enoch, maneuvering Morgan behind him at the same time. They'd made it halfway to his room. Further than he'd expected. "Hello, Enoch. You're looking well." Ezra couldn't actually see his brother clearly with the way his vision was swimming with panic, but he assumed it was true. Enoch always looked the same. Deceptively thin and wiry with a permanent frown pulling at his dark eyebrows, as though he'd been distilled down to only the necessities after four hundred years. Strength and judgment. A dash of self-righteousness. Certainly no room for a sense of humor.

  Enoch's gaze took in Ezra with an almost painful precision before moving to Morgan. His expression didn't change that Ezra could tell, but when he had finished his inspection he nodded once as if satisfied by something. What, Ezra didn't know. He'd never been able to guess at Enoch's motives for anything. "And you look absolutely wretched."

  Ezra scowled at him. They had patched up the worst of the damage before leaving the cabin but there was only so much they could do without a shower and a fresh wardrobe. "Thank you."

  "I didn't mean it as a compliment."

  "I know." It was usually best to leave Enoch be, but this time Ezra couldn't quite manage it. His grip tightened on Morgan's hand. "Am I dismissed?"

  For a moment Enoch looked puzzled before his habitual placid displeasure washed away the expression and left him a blank again. He waved Ezra off. But instead of withdrawing to whatever hidey-hole he'd come from, he stayed in the doorway, watching them like the other portraits lining the walls as they disappeared down the hall.

  "Your family really is... interesting." Morgan leaned in close. The whispered words tickled Ezra's ear. He shivered.

  "That's one way of describing them. Just wait until you meet the rest."

  They made their way down another hall and up the curved staircase that led to the upper level and his rooms, running past closed doors and hallways that might produce more siblings. Ezra didn't breathe again until he had gotten Morgan into his room and locked the door. The peace was a lie. The entire family knew he was home. He felt them nearby like bees buzzing in a hive, which meant they could feel him too.

  He'd missed that gentle lull of their closeness. Even if he was angry with some of them at the moment. Mother especially. He'd been feeling the faint glimmer of her presence ever since they reached the lobby, persistent enough that everyone else was almost lost beneath it. A part of him wanted to go door to door just to see their faces again. But if they hadn't shown themselves yet it was only because they'd chosen to do it at their leisure. They must have smelled Morgan's humanity the second he stepped off the elevator. They knew Ezra wasn't alone.

  Ezra kicked off his ruined shoes and dropped face first onto the bed. The hunter landed beside him with a soft whumf in the mound of pillows. Some of them bounced off and onto the floor.

  His bedroom felt too large after the closeness of the cabin, the walls distant, the expensive furnishings like props. In less than a week his own room had become a stranger to him. Ezra flipped over. He'd spent so many hours lying here and planning, staring at the high ceiling or out the windows while suns set and rose again. The waiting had seemed endless.

  "What are you thinking about?" Morgan's voice was soft.

  What was he thinking about? The problem was that he was thinking too many things all at once, each new thought crowding to the surface and blotting out the others. Plans. Wishes. But they would all stay just that if he kept lying here, dreaming. He laced his fingers with Morgan's again and squeezed.

  Ezra sat up. "I have to speak to Mother. Right now. No more waiting." He slithered off the enormous bed and began shucking clothes. If he was going to face her, he needed his armor in place. "But first I need to prepare."

  MORG
AN WATCHED WHILE Ezra darted around the room, disappearing into a closet roughly the size of his first apartment. He emerged carrying garment bags and clothes on hangers before disappearing once more, this time into the bathroom, with a warning not to go wandering while he dressed. Morgan had no argument there. He took the opportunity to change into some clothes that were a little less battle scarred—the sweater was a total loss, but the jeans might be okay with a washing—before investigating this strange new venue.

  The room was a microcosm of the Ezra that he knew. The furniture was modern and expensive looking, the purple velvet upholstery on the chaise lounge one of the only pops of color. Everything else was black and silver, reflective chrome and slick lacquered side tables. Morgan could picture Ezra draped over the couch the same way some of his discarded clothing was now. These weren't the clothes Morgan had seen before. They must have been cast offs from when he had dressed before leaving the last time. Leather pants, slashed leggings, crop tops, and mesh, most of it black. Morgan set everything back where he'd found it, smiling faintly. There was something comforting about all those signs of Ezra's passing, knowing that even among all this obvious luxury a part of him was still exactly the same person that Morgan had grown to know. And love. There was no point beating around that particular bush anymore.

  One side of the room was given over to enormous windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering an uninterrupted view of the grid-like streets below. All the surrounding buildings were shorter. The setting sun painted the sky pink and orange, and all over the city lights twinkled, growing brighter as the sun dropped lower. It was magnificent. It made Morgan want to press his hands and face against the window just to be closer to all that space. The sky and the city going on forever. It was the closest he'd ever felt to flying.

  "Enjoying the view?" Ezra asked.

  Morgan turned from the windows and froze. He hadn't heard the bathroom door open but now Ezra stood framed in it, a cloud of steam from his shower billowing out, scenting the air. Morgan sniffed. Vetiver, he thought, but couldn't be sure. And Ezra...

  "Wow."

  Ezra stiffened, but he didn't fidget even though it was clear he wanted to. Instead he turned his face aside, looking towards the windows while he let Morgan look his fill.

  The suit Ezra had donned molded to his body in a way that would have drawn every eye in a crowded room and turned his already long legs into art. The suit coat was so perfectly him, in some kind of patterned black and magenta fabric like abstract leopard spots, open to the layered shirt beneath and a black tie held in place by a faceted crystal tack. His unruly hair had been styled and combed into shining waves framing his left eye. The usual eyeliner had been replaced with a smoky eye that made his dark gaze even more intense. Focused. Morgan couldn't look away.

  "Wow," he said again. "Yes. I definitely am. You look..." No words were big enough or special enough. "I really want to kiss you right now, but I'm afraid to mess you up."

  Ezra's fangs popped as he smiled, a familiar look darkening his eyes. "Once I'm done speaking to Mother. We didn't get to have our party yet."

  Morgan nodded. His mind was already spinning out possibilities, all the ways he was going to ruin Ezra once they were alone together again. Slowly. He wanted to take his time. "We'll have to fix that." His gaze ran over Ezra again, memorizing every line. He stopped when he reached his feet. "You're not wearing your heels." Which shouldn't have been a surprise. The boots Ezra had been wearing for the last week were ruined even before the fight had left them splattered with blood, but Morgan was still sad to see them go. He had a lot of very fond memories of those boots.

  With a wicked grin, Ezra spun to show Morgan the backs of his new—less towering—shoes. Morgan had taken them for plain black dress shoes, but with the new angle he could see the back of the low heels were set with molded silver skulls. Little black crystals glittered in their eyes.

  Ezra held a finger to his lips. "Shh. Don't tell Seraphine or Enoch. They think they're vulgar."

  Morgan laughed. "I like them."

  Ezra adjusted his cuffs and hair in one of the mirrors along the wall before approaching Morgan. "I shouldn't be long. Wait for me?" His hands rested lightly on Morgan's chest. Uncertainty flitted across his face.

  "As long as it takes."

  Despite best intentions, Ezra's hair didn't quite survive their kiss. He retreated back to the mirror to fix the mussed waves a second time and then, casting a nervous glance back at Morgan, he was gone and Morgan was alone.

  The room felt like a museum without Ezra to fill it.

  Morgan showered and took his time settling in. Smiling over a pair of platform heels kicked under a chair and a neatly folded newspaper on a side table. He was about to move on when he noticed the headline and photo splashed across the front of the paper.

  Ezra had devoured all the books Morgan had brought to the cabin before demanding more, so it didn't surprise him to see the paper there. What did surprise him was the familiar face staring back at him from the front page.

  "Reclusive Morales Family's Unexpected Donation," read the headline. Dated just over a week ago.

  Morgan remembered the story. He'd read it when this paper was new, the day before he'd blown his life apart. He picked up the newspaper, unfolding the pages so he could see the large photo that accompanied the article. It related the news of the unexpected and large charitable donation—a historic building downtown—with the understanding that it be used as a library. Along with the building, the family had included a selection of rare books and an undisclosed sum of money. The photo showed the mayor and a few others posing over the signed papers, important people with plastic smiles as they waited for the picture to be taken.

  But one of them smiled wider than the rest, though his gaze was averted. That smile looked almost giddy. He was dressed in another black suit, similar to those around him yet somehow more obviously expensive, more stylish, hair combed back off his forehead. For once no eyeliner rimmed his eyes. Morgan blamed that for his lack of earlier recognition.

  The legend beneath the photo didn't identify Ezra by name, calling him only "a representative from the Morales family," but there was no mistaking him.

  No wonder he'd looked familiar when Morgan had first seen him. The suit and the styled hair transformed him until Ezra was barely recognizable, but there was nothing that could disguise those sly eyebrows and out-turned lips now that he knew them so well. He'd spent too many hours studying them to mistake them ever again. Morgan traced the photo with a fingertip.

  And no wonder Ezra hadn't wanted to say who his family was when Morgan first asked. There wasn't anyone in the state that didn't know the Morales family at least in passing. They were just as reclusive as the headline claimed, like a family of urban Bigfoots—or would it be Bigfeet?—seen only by a few choice individuals, though their influence was felt in great ripples throughout the city. The donation of the library wasn't just generous, it was unheard of. And Ezra had been there. Ezra, who had been on his knees for Morgan, begging, only a day ago, was part of one of the most powerful families in the city. And they were all vampires.

  Morgan felt the urge to laugh hysterically again. The situation sounded so ridiculous. It felt even more so. Then again, in lieu of a party, Morgan had spent his twentieth birthday surrounded by family as they burned a vengeful ghost out of house and home. They'd eaten grocery store cake after, still covered in soot, sitting in the back of a cousin's truck, watching the fire until it burned itself out. Ridiculous was where he was meant to be. It was in his blood. He'd run away from it only to end up right back where he'd started. Metaphorically speaking.

  It figured. But that didn't mean he didn't have a hand on the wheel. He could still choose his own brand of ridiculous.

  Morgan brought the newspaper with as he sat on the purple velvet couch and pulled out his phone.

  The texts and voicemails from his family had multiplied exponentially since he'd checked last. As he scroll
ed through, the pang of guilt he'd been expecting never arrived. Theresa's messages quickly went from cautious displeasure to aggravation before they finally stopped. His parents were more of the same. Morgan deleted them all, unheard and unread, after the first few. There wasn't anything there that he hadn't already known. Then he dialed his parents so he could make his last stand

  11

  Mother's office lay an elevator ride and several corridors lined with armed guards away from Ezra's room, her presence a distant warble, like bird song heard through layers of glass.

  She was back early. Seraphine had said it would be a few days more before Mother returned from her business abroad, but this was better. Ezra wanted to get this over with. No more waiting.

  No one stopped him as Ezra pushed open the heavy double doors to her office suite. A secretary sat behind a glass-topped desk in the adjoining room, cool and crisp in a tailored suit and a no-nonsense haircut, a phone pressed to their ear. They nodded to him.

  The office beyond was roughly the size of a ballroom, but walled in dark wood paneling that gave it a close feeling, like being cupped within the enormous hands of a giant. Everything was on that same overwhelming scale: a slab-like mahogany desk, yards and yards of saffron silk draperies bracketing the windows and pooling on the floor beneath, potted trees arching towards the high ceiling. The quiet hum of something classical and restrained emanating from unseen speakers about the room. To Ezra it sounded like a dirge. Then again most classical music did. Much to the rest of his family's disappointment, he'd never developed a taste for it.

  Mother stood before the windows, silhouetted by the fading colors of the day. Her back was to him and she didn't turn. Her dark waist-length hair had been braided with strings of pearls. Wearing the high-collared white suit today, he saw. She must be feeling festive.