Mastering the Flames (The Beacon Hill Sorcerer, #4)

by S.J. Himes

He didn’t feel like himself. A part of him figured that who he was no longer existed. Who was Isaac Salvatore completely sober with nothing to hide behind? No excuses, no reasons to drink, no bottle to dull his actions and his pain. Maybe being hollow and laid bare was what he deserved, penance for the last ten years of fuck-ups and mistakes and dragging his brother through a shit-storm of drunken binges, bar brawls, pickups in a drunk tank, and his late boyfriend Greg stealing pieces of his family heritage and money when Isaac’s apathy was at its peak.

Master he may be, but Constantine had let arrogance and complacency cloud his judgment. He would not make such mistakes again. There was one person in this world he trusted above all others, and Simeon would be a guard against the machinations of those who would bring harm to the clan until he found his footing again. Confidence shaken, trust betrayed, enemy plots seen too late or not at all, Constantine would not appoint another Elder, despite the expectations of the oldest amongst his clan and the traditions of his people.

“I don’t know. Not really. I do know I don’t want to be who I’ve been. It feels like I’m on a path I never should have tread. A path belonging to someone else. I’ve been living a life never meant for me, and who I should have been is still waiting for me.”

“I feel odd. Like I don’t belong. I don’t fit anymore.” The small smile Dr. M gave him was a surprise. “Isaac, you’re sober. You’re in therapy, you’ve just come out of rehab, and you’re taking control of your life. I would be concerned if you didn’t feel odd. You’re changing. Evolving as a person and learning how to manage your addiction and the consequences of that addiction. I think the oddness you’re experiencing is your subconscious awareness of how different you are already. Who you were is at odds with who you’re becoming. Your old life doesn’t fit. Of course, it feels odd.”

Drunk Isaac wasn’t the best at making good decisions, and now Sober Isaac was realizing how fucked up his usual responses were to attractive men. What was he supposed to do now? If they were in a club or bar, Isaac wouldn’t hesitate to offer a blowjob in the bathroom or a fuck in a back alley somewhere. Sober Isaac was turned on, slightly bothered by the blood, and feeling out of his depth. Batiste was feeding the flames, and Sober Isaac was clueless about how to proceed.

“Smoke, like that of a bonfire on a frigid winter night, pine sap snapping as the wood heats, the earth beneath it soaking in the warmth, smelling of rain as the snow melts.” Isaac blinked up at Constantine, finding himself growing warmer, cheeks flushed. “That’s fucking awesome.”

Isaac gaped. “That was horrible.” “Puns have always been horrible, no matter the language.” Constans frowned as if recalling something unpleasant. “They are a form of torture in many cultures.”

Isaac poked one rock-solid pec with his finger. “Are you stalking me?” “No?” Constans sounded like he was thinking about it and might not be sure. “Not me. I pay many people in this city to do many things, and I know all sorts of things as a result. Not just you—I know your brother prefers things to be pine-scented, and that your best friend has excellent taste in porn. I watched a few myself.” Isaac snorted. “I have no idea why I’m not mad.” Constans leaned forward a bit, and Isaac turned slightly so he could whisper lightly in his ear. “I think you like it, mon coeur.”

“Don’t sound so scared,” Constans smiled at him again, and carded his fingers through Isaac’s hair before dropping his hand away. “You need never wonder if I love you. All you need to do is ask.”

“Please keep me in the loop and share with me and I will totally come help you when things get shitty and you need backup,” Isaac gasped out, trying not to cry. “But what I need right now is to figure out who I am. Hang out with Danny, brush up on my high magics, play with a dragon, go to my therapy sessions, and make out with a sexy vampire if he’s amenable.” “He is,” Constans rumbled softly.

Angel’s expression was one he wasn’t sure he could decipher, then it hit him. He blinked and looked away, not sure how to handle it. Pride. His brother was proud of him. “Stop it, you’ll make this weird.”

“You leapt across reality, made a dramatic entrance complete with a peal of thunder, picked up a fae sword, and then fought off a monster.” His words came out teasing and incredulous. “A rather novel interpretation of what I do,” Constans replied. “And yet you make it sound like I’m some sort of noble warrior from a film full of flashy superheroes.” Isaac shrugged with one shoulder and looked down at Constans’s hands holding his. Constans leaned forward a bit, and Isaac looked up. “It was nothing but the least of what I would do for you,” Constans promised, and it came across as a vow, resonating deep within Isaac, his chest tightening.

“I rose from my first death a few months after I entered my twenty-sixth year.” Not too bad. Isaac suddenly felt better about the age gap. Twenty-six was nothing compared to two thousand. “A little over two years older than me.” “Isaac, I am far more than two years older than you.” Constans’s lips twitched in amusement. “I am over 2,100 years older than you.” “That’s just how long you’ve been a vampire. There’s a twenty-six-year-old punk in there somewhere, getting drunk with Romans in taverns and running into battle screaming, naked, all while covered in blue paint.”

Constans appeared out of thin air and Isaac jumped, not at all ashamed of the gasp and slight flailing inspired by the sudden appearance of the object of his affections. He bent over and put his hands on his knees and tried to breathe. “A… fucking bell.” He gasped out, before straightening and glaring at Constans’s handsome, smirking face. “You’re getting a bell, just like a housecat. A cute one, sky blue, with little plastic rhinestones on it and a tag that says PITA.”

Watching Constans laugh was one of his favorite things. His face transformed from serious and mildly intimidating, to relaxed and open, and Isaac could see a hint of the young mortal man who died too young at the age of twenty-six. Beneath the suave exterior and the ice-cold demeanor lay someone entirely unexpected. Isaac didn’t know who Constans was yet—but he wanted to know. He wanted to know Constans beyond the surface layers, to the person he caught glimpses of in quiet tender moments.

Simeon smirked. “Angel is well, Master, thank you. I left him much as you left your young mate, happy and sated.” Constans arched a brow but let the mate comment slide. He knew what he wanted, but Isaac was still in the moment, still healing, and any pressure from Constans on Isaac to define their relationship could very well push him away. He was immortal. Patience was his specialty.

“Why does he love me? I’m broken.” Dr. M smiled at him, his silver eyes shining brightly, and there was joy in his eyes along with compassion. “Vampires love once, truly, deeply, and forever. If a vampire has given you his heart, then he loves all of you, without hesitation, even the broken bits and pieces. I can’t tell you why he’s fallen in love with you, but he can. Ask him.”

I would only ask you to consider that applying mortal and human moral absolutes to a supernatural being who has existed since long before human civilization is not going to solve anything. Vampires and humans share a common foundation, but the fae do not. They are truly inhuman, even Rory. What we believe and cling to is not their truth or reality.

Constans gently pressed their foreheads together and he whispered, “I love you. I promise you an eternity of my love and support, never ending, never tiring. Forever is yours, and you will never be alone.”

The bloodclan was happy for him developing a Leannán bond with Isaac. It was so rare for their kind to find a person, or even rarer, persons, to love in such a way that the bond formed. He knew he was blessed—by fate or destiny or a long-forgotten benevolent god from his mortal life, or perhaps even the goddess of death and magic, Hecate, that Angel and Isaac swore by—whatever the reason, he would treasure the gift he’d been given. And he would treasure Isaac beyond all measure.

“Ahh,” Constans replied, smiling. “Moving in, are we?” Isaac poked at one broad shoulder. “I moved in days ago, buddy. Took you long enough to notice.” “I was trying not to pressure you into staying by saying something. Better if it was your idea all along.”

He wanted Constans’s bite to be on his flesh, visible for the whole world to see. To see that Constans wanted him, and that their bond was strong enough to allow the feeding. For the world to know that Isaac Salvatore belonged somewhere, with someone who loved him, whom he loved in return.