“I’m not indifferent.”
Remy raised his head, but only a little. His hair obscured his eyes. “Oh?”
Peace settled within Miles, along with a particular flavor of certainty. Although the power of the Oak King still surged within him, he’d come back to himself. In fact, he was more himself than he’d been in a very long time.
“I love you,” Miles said calmly, yet with sorrow. “I always have. Anyone else I’ve touched has been nothing but a poor substitute. There will never be anyone but you.”
His face still hidden, Remy shuddered. He reached out to lightly press a cool palm against Miles’s wrist. “Miles, I—”
“It’s all right. I’m leaving in a couple of days. I won’t blame you anymore. And I’ll be okay.” He wasn’t certain about that last part. He’d always grieve. But he was whole within himself, and he believed he’d survive well enough.
But Remy snorted and finally looked him in the eyes. “For the gods’ sake, will you please just listen to me for once? Will you grant me that one boon?”
Miles nodded.
“Why do you think I stopped… stopped us, ten years ago? Why do you think I told you to leave Kemken?”
“Because you knew I was falling for you—had fallen—and didn’t want me in the same way. We’ve been through this.”
Remy made a slight growl. “No, it’s what you keep saying and I keep denying. Look. I know I was harsh with you then. Cruel even. But I had to be in order to make sure you’d leave.”
“Well, it worked.” Miles didn’t say it with anger. Now that he’d won the physical battle, the rage was gone; all that remained was a lot of longing and a fair dose of sadness. He didn’t even blame Remy for treating him harshly instead of letting him down easy. Gentle breakups probably weren’t the forte of most hundred-and-fifty-year-old vampires. Hell, they weren’t the forte of many people at all. Maybe there was no soft way to tell someone you weren’t that into them.
Remy let go of the wrist and reached up, as if he might stroke Miles’s face. But then he sighed and let his hand fall. “If I hadn’t made you leave, what would have happened to you?”
In truth, Miles had never followed that train of thought, maybe because it was too painful. “I… I would have stayed. Here. With you.”
“Yes.”
“Your point?”
“You were barely more than a boy. Twenty-one.”
Miles crossed his arms. “Twenty-two.”
“I was only a little older when I….” Remy waved vaguely at his fangs.
Reaching to scratch his head in confusion, Miles was momentarily surprised when he hit an antler. He’d forgotten about them. He wished he could see his reflection, then realized he didn’t need to. He’d already painted himself like this. Then he recalled the swords he’d also painted, and he shuddered, relieved he and Remy had fought barehanded instead.
With a faint smile, Remy gently stroked one of the antlers. Miles shuddered again, but for a different reason: he could feel Remy’s fingers, and the contact was shockingly erotic. Apparently the Oak King had some unusual erogenous zones.
“Joli,” Remy said. Then he shivered, as if shaking off a distraction, and pulled his fingers away. “Twenty-two is so very young. You had so many possibilities ahead of you. I didn’t want to chain you here.”
“It’s not chaining if I wanted it.”
“You wanted it because you knew nothing else. You are special, Miles Thorsen, and you deserve more than a monster who can’t even go out in the sun.”
Miles’s heart had felt battered before, but now it broke completely. “You’re no monster.”
In answer, Remy lifted his lip to better reveal his fangs. But Miles only laughed and shook his antlers.
“You didn’t have those then,” Remy pointed out. “And that’s not the point anyway. You needed to see that the world had more to offer than just me.”
“I might have been young, but I wasn’t that naïve. I had a pretty good idea what the world might give me; and I wanted you. Always you, Remy.”
“But you wouldn’t—”
“Do you think I’d have spent my life wondering what if? Thinking I might have settled for second best?”
Remy didn’t respond; his silence spoke loudly enough.
Miles let out a long sigh. “You know what happened instead? I wasted ten years. Wandering from place to place, never feeling at home because I wasn’t. Because the Castle is home. Squandering time by finding a man for an hour or a night or a week—even a little longer in Andy’s case—but never completely connecting with any of them… because they weren’t you.” It only now occurred to Miles that Andy’s abrupt departure was his own fault too. He’d never truly let Andy into his heart. He forgave him now and sent a wish out into the world for his success.
“I’m sorry,” Remy said.
“No. I screwed up my life, not you.” And that was another truth Miles needed to acknowledge. Yes, he’d felt wounded when Remy rejected him, but Miles had a loving family, a good education, and a wealth of options. The choices he made were his own and the consequences had been his to bear.
Even though it was the middle of the night, a raven landed on a nearby tree and croaked as if scolding them. It had bright eyes and shining feathers, and it seemed somehow amused. Maybe it should be: a naked vampire and naked guy with antlers, both thoroughly covered in mud and debris, having it out in the middle of the woods. Remy gave the bird a long look, as if in consultation, then turned to face Miles. “You too.”
“What?” Miles frowned in confusion.
“Always you. Only you.”
Miles’s heart beat so loudly that he could barely hear himself speak. “I—”
“I was waiting for you decades before you were even born. Before your grandparents were born. It was like waiting for morning. You don’t know what the day will bring, but you know for sure the sun will rise.”
“The sun destroys you.”
“Only if I’m careless.” Remy touched him again, a cold hand on a heated shoulder. Miles still radiated a warm glow, and with the contact, it blended seamlessly with Remy’s cool light. “And I’m willing to take care.”
The raven rasped its approval.
“I wasn’t at the Castle when your parents first brought you here,” Remy said. “As you have done, I searched for something I’d find only at home. You were fifteen when I returned, and I knew as soon as I saw you. Like a lightning bolt here.” He pressed his free palm over Miles’s racing heart.
“You avoided me.”
“You were a child! I almost left again, but I didn’t have the emotional strength.”
Miles thought back on the slow, tentative way Remy had entered his life, allowing Miles to steer the course of their friendship. Miles had been almost nineteen when they became lovers, and even then, Miles had been the one to insist.
“I’m glad you stayed,” he said.
“But then I made you go.”
The warmth wasn’t just on Miles’s skin. It filled him to the core, from toes to antler tips. To the very depths of his soul. “And I returned,” he said.