Blood Match

Chapter 39: Secrets in the Penthouse

Harrison sat on the burgundy leather couch in the library of the penthouse while Marlowe and Gideon occupied two large thronelike wingback chairs in black leather. Harrison had already sent his people home to recover from the earlier festivities with strict instructions not to talk about what went on.

Gideon sat quietly, a look of cold superiority on his face. Harrison knew that he had lost strategic ground in the last several hours and he had no idea how to recover it. Gideon had broken him in the most intimate way. Try as he might, Harrison couldn't banish the sensations — the ache, the need — that still thrummed beneath his skin. A hunger had been awakened in him, one he hadn't known existed.

Marlowe only watched him — eyes glittering with quiet triumph, composed, silent. And Harrison knew. She saw it. She saw that he was tamed... and Gideon held the leash.

Gideon let the silence stretch — watching, analyzing, studying Harrison, just as he had once studied the animals in his youth. Before his father had caught him.

Before the beatings meant to drive the devil out.

They hadn't worked. And when Gideon was turned, the honorable Jeremiah Pierce became the first to meet the devil face to face.

He hadn't known it then, not until the end — that Gideon had dethroned his petty Lucifer. But he knew it before he died.

"Harrison," Gideon said, breaking the silence.

He smiled inwardly as Harrison's eyes darted toward him — snapped from his thoughts by Gideon's deep, sensuous voice.

"Marlowe tells me you have a proposition for us. What is it you're offering?"

Harrison took a deep shuddering breath and composed himself. Softly, he said,

"There are certain,"

Gideon interrupted him, voice cracking like a whip, "Do speak up, dear boy, even with our excellent hearing, it is hard to make out what you're saying!"

Harrison flinched, the words landing like a slap. He straightened up, his eyes focusing on Gideon.

"There are certain people who are very invested in ensuring Leo never finds his blood match — and if possible, in eliminating him altogether."

Harrison paused, panting softly, as if the sentence had taken something from him.

"We have an interest in the serum you've been developing — the one you use to control difficult vampires in your domain."

"And who exactly are these people you speak of?" Gideon asked, shifting in his seat, parting his legs just enough to make the bulge beneath his silk pants more prominent. Harrison's eyes dropped, drawn as if by gravity.

"I'm not at liberty to reveal the identity of my benefactors at this time," Harrison said, his tone tight with urgency, "but suffice it to say, they're powerful — and could help expand your influence."

Gideon smiled. He let his hand drift down to rest over the bulge in his silk pants, casually catching Harrison's gaze.

"Harrison," he said, his voice lilting with mock disappointment, "I thought I was your benefactor." He pouted, pitch sliding just high enough to mimic a spoiled child. "You wouldn't want me to get annoyed and stop playing with you. That wouldn't be very nice... would it?"

"No, no, Gideon — of course I consider you a very important benefactor. It's just... revealing the identity of those who sent me could endanger us all. But I promise you — they're powerful. The rewards they offer, the influence they wield — it's worth your consideration. And... your cooperation."

As the final word left his mouth, Harrison's eyes — almost against his will — flicked back to Gideon's hand, still resting over the swell beneath the silk.

Marlowe still sat quietly, but internally she was reveling in Harrison's discomfort. Earlier at the Manor, Harrison had been so self-assured, confident, even arrogant. Seeing him now — like this — dancing on Gideon's invisible leash of promised or withheld pleasure was thrilling and strangely satisfying.

She thought back to the days before her own turning, how her mother had drilled into her how a proper lady should behave, how to cater to a man's ego and his desires, to be silent and compliant. Now here she was, sitting — a queen, watching a man of power willingly become a plaything for her brother and her ambitions.

Gideon was still, not responding to Harrison, letting the moment stretch — watching the silence do its work. Each moment of quiet seemed to hammer at Harrison's control. Marlowe could see the small cracks in his composure as they appeared: the glances at Gideon, the nervous licking of his lips, the deep shuddering breaths in an attempt to pull together some sense of control. Funny, how men like Harrison always thought they held the reins — until someone like her handed them over to someone like Gideon. No shouting. No force. Just a smile and a leash.

Harrison looked like he was about to unravel completely when Gideon finally spoke, anchoring him just before the collapse.

"Alright, Harrison. I'll give you the serum. But if your plan fails, the consequences are yours alone. Am I clear?"

"Yes," Harrison breathed, nodding eagerly.

"Oh, and one more thing. I'm a bit bored, I think you should come over here and entertain me." Gideon's voice was seductive but without warmth. Ice wrapped in velvet.

"Entertain you?" Harrison asked, voice brittle.

Gideon smiled, slow and merciless. His fingers toyed with the drawstring of his silk pants.

"Oh, Harrison. You know exactly what I mean."

Marlowe looked at Harrison, who had dropped from the couch onto his knees and was crawling over to where Gideon sat waiting.

This was where all men belonged — on their knees. And Gideon would help her put the rest of them there.

She allowed herself a slow smile of satisfaction... and turned away.

Gabriel woke at sunrise, feeling more rested than he had in months. The warmth on his skin, the natural light filtering through the curtains — these were luxuries he hadn't known in nearly a year.

His time on the farm had been spent under sterile fluorescent lights, deep within the bloodplant. Sunlight was anathema to vampires, and so the humans — donors, they called them — were never allowed to see it.

It was still a struggle to approach the window. The openness, the vastness of the sky — even the weak winter sun — felt like too much.

But his mind returned to the new feelings that had bloomed in his awareness — rest, safety in this room, and maybe even... hope.

It struck him suddenly, a visceral spasm of realization: he could never go back. He had to trust that Leo and Liam could help lead him into the sunlight.

It was as if a weight had lifted. He crossed the room, picked up the phone, and dialed.

"Yes, I'd like to order breakfast to my room, please."

Ótan i Dikaiosýni kai to Éleos synantioúntai, se sárka kai epithymía.

Ótan i Dikaiosýni kai to Éleos synantioúntai, se sárka kai epithymía. Tóte tha apokalyftheí to alithinó Stémma tis Fotiás.

Liam woke with a start and sat up in bed. Glancing at the clock — 10 a.m. — he registered the sound of running water from the bathroom. Over it came Leo's voice, strong and smooth, singing a familiar tune.

He was singing "Perfect" by Ed Sheeran.

Liam smiled, listening quietly, humming along. That voice — so warm, so human — belonged to the immortal who had become his anchor, his gravity.

In that moment, something inside him settled. Leo was perfect. And if he had anything to say about it, he would dance in the dark with him for an eternity.

He heard the water stop, and a few minutes later, Leo emerged from the bathroom in gray sweats, bare-chested and toweling his hair dry. Stray droplets of water still ran down the sculpted lines of his chest.

He paused mid-step, eyeing Liam, who was sprawled across the bed wearing a wide, goofy grin.

"What?"

"Ed Sheeran, Leo? Barefoot in the grass? You wear thousand-dollar loafers to stroll in the garden!" Liam burst into laughter.

"Mock me all you want, sunshine," Leo said, tossing the towel aside. "But just remember — you've got yourself a man who can quote Rilke and croon Sheeran in the shower."

He launched himself onto the bed, tackling Liam and pinning him down, peppering his face with playful kisses as Liam squealed and laughed beneath him.

"Ok, I surrender, I surrender! I promise I will never tease you about your cheesy choice of shower song again!" Liam said, laughing until he was out of breath.

He lay still, looking up at Leo who still had him gently pinned. Leo simply stared at him as if he were trying to commit to memory every line and curve of his face. Liam's breath caught in his chest as he felt the breadth and depth of Leo's love wash over him like a gentle wave.

"Leo," Liam whispered, barely above a breath. "What does 'Ótan i Dikaiosýni kai to Éleos synantioúntai, se sárka kai epithymía. Tóte tha apokalyftheí to alithinó Stémma tis Fotiás' mean?"

Leo stilled. For a moment, he didn't speak. Then, in a low voice, he translated:

"When Justice and Mercy meet, in flesh and desire... then will be revealed... the true Crown of Fire."

He looked directly at Liam. "Where did you hear that?"

"It was in my dreams last night," Liam said slowly, his voice softening. "I remember hearing two women singing those words. I never saw them — just their voices, echoing through this dense gray fog. I couldn't move, couldn't see anything... only the song." Liam's voice took on a faraway quality as if he were reliving the moments in his dream.

Leo shifted position to sit on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his hair, falling silent for a long moment.

"About a century ago, Genevieve had been in the garden — it was her favorite place. She'd spend hours out there, tending the roses, planting herbs, just... being. One evening, long after sunset, Don Fernando and I went out to join her. We found her sitting perfectly still, eyes unfocused, whispering the words you just told me — over and over. It took Fernando several minutes to bring her back. When she finally came to, she had no memory of what she'd said or even that we'd joined her. I never heard those words again till right now."