An Unnatural Vice (Sins of the Cities, #2)

by K.J. Charles

Lazarus had wanted to find Nathaniel’s weakness, the hole in his soul, and he’d seized on Tony to do it, and Nathaniel thought he could weep from gratitude at that. Just to be seen, even in such a way, even by such a man, because the recognition was so much better than invisibility.

Either way, she’d left him four years ago, citing Justin’s weasel personality, refusal to give her anything but meaningless words, and general status as a shifty bastard who’d never do any good to anyone.

“Paid a call on Nathaniel Roy.” There was a short silence. “Fuck off,” Justin said at last.

He’d wanted to stroke Nathaniel like a dog.

He wanted Lazarus, and—the true danger here—he wanted to believe Lazarus was worth wanting.

“My interest lies in not getting murdered,” Lazarus said.

“I’m a journalist, damn it. I like answers.” “I’m a medium. I don’t give them.”

“Well, you would,” Justin said reasonably, and felt his breathing trip at the sudden smile that won him.

There was also the small niggle that he wouldn’t mind hearing Nathaniel praise his prowess. That was different. Hardly a ringing endorsement, considering it had been one of the best fucks of his own life,

Nathaniel was watching. “Do you gamble?” “No. I have trouble folding when I should.” “I can well imagine. Perhaps you should learn.”

That led to Justin perching on the kitchen table, talking about his familiars. He was aware he was being drawn out, but Nathaniel did it with a journalist’s skill, and his attention was intense, powerful, and—red flag, Lazarus—flattering.

“Do you believe in keeping to one’s station?” “I believe in what happens when you step out of it,” Justin said.

“If she had choices, you see, and she wanted to stay with me—but what choice is it when the rest are starving, whoring, or scrubbing floors?”

“Why?” “Well, one fewer spiritualist in the world would surely be a good thing.”

“I will make you pay for this.” “I can’t wait,” Nathaniel said, and then his face twitched. “That was, uh, overfamiliar. I beg your pardon.”

“Yes, well, for all your bravado, I made you a promise. I told you I wouldn’t come near you unless asked, and I meant it.”

“Let me rephrase that.” Nathaniel’s hand slid round, fingers in his hair. “Are you asking—nicely—because it’s what you want? Not because you feel the need to please me?” “I don’t feel the need to please you.” Justin arched his head into the stroking fingers massaging the back of his skull. “When have I ever done that? Mmm.”

Making love. That was what it felt like in its slow care. Justin lay back into it, letting Nathaniel do as he wished, muttering his assent to the questions. May I undo your shirt? May I lick you? May I touch you here? “You really don’t have to ask,” he said, with difficulty. “Assume yes.” “No.” Nathaniel had a thumb and finger round his cock, working it so gently Justin could only just feel it. “I want to know that every time I touch you, you want it.” “I want it.”

“I like your spirit guide,” Nathaniel agreed, then bent low and added, quietly, “I prefer you.”

That stopped Nathaniel. He read, agitated, voted, and wrote about the suffering of the poor; he cared about it; but it was not his world. It was a world he observed and felt pleased to know something about. It gave him satisfaction to make others understand a little more, or to offer support, financial or otherwise. He’d never lived it.

Fucking hell, Nathaniel, I tell lies about the afterlife for a handful of shillings. Your father does it and they give him cloth of gold.”

And I have frequently observed that a good way to find out what a man fears in himself is to see what he attacks in others.”

“I thought you were an atheist.” “I don’t believe in God. I do, however, believe in people. I see you clearly, Justin Lazarus, little though you want to be seen.”