The present
Connor sat patiently for all of ten minutes before he got bored and started to explore the apartment. He began in the kitchen, peeking in the cupboards before checking out the contents of the fridge. As he did so, he frowned. The fridge seemed to be divided in two. Some of the shelves had fresh, healthy, newly bought items, arranged neatly by food group. Others had rich and expensive fare, caviar, pate, half eaten deserts, stuffed in without thought. A cabinet under the stairs contained a large quantity of high quality cognac, whiskey and wine, which was also strange as Mishka didn’t seem the type to drink.
Connor looked around him, paranoid he was being watched, then quickly climbed the stairs to the upper floor. He had seen the bathroom already, but there was a door next to it which he pushed open to reveal a large, opulent bedroom. The bed itself was enormous, covered by black and red silk sheets. Copious numbers of soft, plump pillows were propped up against the intricate cast-iron headboard. Briefly Connor fantasized about what it would be like to be tied down on such a bed, his hands locked above his head as Mishka loomed over him, enjoying the imaginary contrast between such comfort and the sublime fear of being at the other’s mercy. He shook his head, and frowned. Keep it together, he chided himself. That kind of thought is dangerous.
He sat down on the bed. It was as firm and as comfortable as it looked, and he bounced up and down for a bit, testing the mattress. For some reason though, he couldn’t imagine Mishka sleeping on it, it seemed too sensuous, too luxurious, too over-the-top for Mishka’s tastes.
Opening the wardrobe confirmed his suspicions. At one end were a number of plain black suits and white shirts that were obviously Mishka’s. The majority of the space, however, was taken up with clothes cut for a taller man. If Mishka’s suits were well made, these were exquisite, coming from some of the finest fashion houses in Europe. The accompanying silk shirts were a variety of colors, and again, they couldn’t have been Mishka’s, neither by style or size.
This wasn’t his apartment Connor realized in shock, suddenly apprehensive. Furthermore, the way the apartment was arranged suggested an intimate sharing of space. There was only one bed for a start.
Immediately Connor’s images of himself tied to the bed switched, and it was Mishka restrained there, long red silk ropes wrapped around his narrow wrists, his pale slender body naked and writhing on the dark sheets under his unknown lover. Connor’s breath hitched and his mouth went dry. Who on earth could Mishka’s partner be? And more to the point, why did he feel jealous?
Connor sat down again on the bed, then lay down, deep in thought. Who the hell was Mishka Alkaresh, he mused. He recognized the main players, and knew his way around the lower echelons of Vampire society relatively well, but neither the name nor the face was familiar. Before he knew it his eyes had closed, and it was the early hours of the morning before he was woken up.
~oOo~
Connor sat up, suddenly positive Mishka returned.
The lift pinged announcing its arrival and Connor’s pulse raced in alarm. Had he made a massive mistake in staying, he wondered, would Mishka be angry to find him still here? Mishka was a vampire. A fucking vampire. There was no reason to think Mishka would tell him anything, certainly not about The First.
Cautiously he tip-toed onto the landing, and almost gasped out loud. Mishka wasn’t alone. Although Connor couldn’t see the face of the man who accompanied him, the recognizable wide-brimmed hat, the olive skin and the long, lithe, wiry body were a dead give-away. Nikolai, he realized in horror, the Captain of The First’s Guardians. A fucking legend had just walked into his life, he didn’t know whether to be terrified or exhilarated. He knew his instincts had been right, Mishka was aware of far more than he let on.
