Unless you run away. No one can ask you to do something if you aren’t there to do it. Haruka has discovered a loophole. However, in light of his manservant’s apparent defiance, Haruka can no longer use his loophole. He needs Nino to participate. Simply “not wanting to” isn’t an acceptable excuse.
Keeping his voice calm, he makes an appeal to Nino. “If times were different and there were more purebreds within this country, perhaps you could dismiss your responsibility. There are only three of us in the UK, and the purebred in Edinburgh has other obligations. If you feel insecure about your knowledge…” Haruka hesitates, wondering if he is truly so desperate to have another purebred in attendance that he would open his home to a complete stranger.
Yes. Yes, he is.
“I have a library at my estate in Devonshire, off the coast in Sidmouth,” Haruka explains. “In my collection, there is a book that specifically details the process of bonding. If you wish, you can spend a few days researching with me as I prepare for the ceremony, then we can travel there together?”
Nino pauses a beat, giving Haruka a false sense of hope before he ultimately shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Haruka. It’s… I can’t. But I appreciate the kind offer. I’m really sorry.”
Indignant, Haruka stands from the bar and pulls his wallet from his coat pocket. He takes a breath to squash his incredulity. This is the modern age—the twenty-first century. If this purebred desires to live his life as an outcast of the aristocracy, who is Haruka to persuade him otherwise? To each their own.
Haruka will handle the ceremony alone, somehow. He manages every disappointing thing life throws at him.
He removes a twenty-pound note from his wallet and places it on the counter. “Understood. I won’t trouble you any further—” Nino reaches out, his hand firmly resting over Haruka’s fingers. The physical contact abruptly shifts Haruka’s knotted aura again and he inhales sharply. Startled, he snatches his hand away from Nino’s grasp.
Nino is completely still. His shoulders drop when he exhales a breath. He closes his eyes as he runs his fingers into the top of his thick hair. “You—you don’t need to pay… The wine is on me.”
Haruka takes a step back, smoothly sliding his hands and wallet into his coat pockets. He straightens his spine. “I insist. Good luck with your future business endeavors.”
Four
Later the same night, Nino closes down the bar, counts the register, does some light cleaning with his employees and stops by the bank before returning to his flat in Tufnell Park. When he finally sits down on his bed, he still has weird chills running through his body. He’s never been electrocuted or struck by lightning (thankfully), but he imagines the aftershocks feel something like this. Odd jolts and jitters racing up his spine.
He stares absently out the window across from him. Glittery snowflakes dance against the deep blue backdrop of the night sky—or is it morning? The pointed rooftops of St. George’s Church across the street are lightly dusted with winter white. He picks up his smartphone beside him and presses it on. 4:25 a.m. He checks his messages to see if there’s a response from his best friend. Nothing. She’s definitely asleep by now.
It is late (or early) but he needs to talk with someone. His brother will be irritated by his calling, but Giovanni is almost always irritated with him anyway. Nino hits his number and brings the phone to his ear, waiting.
“What’s wrong?” His brother’s husky voice immediately fills the line.
“Nothing is wrong, per se—”
“Then why the hell are you calling me at three-fucking-thirty in the morning?”
Nino leans down, resting his elbows against his thighs and running his hand into his hair, stressed. “Aren’t you flying to Russia today?”
“Yes.”
“Right. I wanted to ask you something before you’re on a plane for six hours and then in business meetings all weekend.” Nino vigorously massages his hand against his scalp, creating a frenzied mess of his coppery hair. The line is suddenly silent. He abruptly sits up straight like an anxious meercat. “G?”
“I’m waiting for you to tell me what you want,” Giovanni says. “You only call me when something is wrong, so what is it?”
Nino takes a deep breath. Whenever he speaks with his older brother, he feels like one of those people on a spinning wheel at an old-timey circus. The ones that got knives thrown at them. “I didn’t tell you about this, but I’ve been getting these weird invitations from one of the vampires of the aristocracy here.”
“What kind of weird invitations?”
“They say something about confirming a bonding ceremony—”
“Shit,” Giovanni breathes. “They still do those in England? Fucking weird. We haven’t done one of those in Milan since the early 1800s. Gross.”
“Is this thing what I think it is?” Nino asks. “I tried to Google it but nothing specific to ‘bonding confirmation’ came up.”
“Kiddo, you’re not going to find deep-rooted aristocracy vampire shit on the Internet. Look up ‘bedding ceremony.’ It’s fairly close, objective wise.”
Nino hunches his body down again, stifling a groan. He already looked that up.
“Did you accept the invitation?” Giovanni asks.
Here come the knives. Nino takes a deep breath. “No.”
“Why?”
“G… I don’t want to—”
“You told me you were going to England to be more independent and learn. You told me you weren’t just following behind Cellina—that you wanted to change. If you’re going to keep avoiding everyone like a child and only thinking about yourself, you might as well come back home and do that shit. We can find you a new source.”
Nino falls back against the bed, his phone still pressed to his ear as he throws his arm over his eyes. He doesn’t want to run away or be selfish, but he also doesn’t want to be in an ancient castle in the middle of nowhere, full of strange vampires he’s never met.
And he definitely doesn’t want to watch them have sex.
“British purebreds became extinct sometime after the Vanishing,” Giovanni says, shuffling against the phone. “Is it only you they’re asking?”
“No…” Nino sighs. He hates it when people casually reference the Great Vanishing—when several purebreds across the world literally vanished into thin air one hundred and fifty years ago. He hadn’t been alive at the time, but even reading stories about it deeply disturbs him. Until this day, there is no explanation as to why or how it happened.
Nino rolls his shoulders. “There’s another purebred in England. I heard there was one in Scotland too, but she can’t go. The one in England came to talk to me today, at the bar.”
“Oh yeah?” Giovanni asks. “Bonded?”
“No,” Nino says.
