Page 33 of Something Worth Keeping
He led Julian across the rooftop to what looked like a rusted air conditioning unit. Cillian pressed his palm against the metal, feeding shadows into the concealed lock. The unit swung open, revealing stairs descending into darkness.
Julian peered down. “That’s an interesting security mechanism. Is it biometric?”
“Something like that.” Cillian went first, the shadows lighting their path with soft phosphorescence. “The warehouse exterior is deliberately maintained to look abandoned. Anyone who enters through the front finds exactly what they’d expect -broken machinery, a lot of empty space, and evidence of vagrant occupation. But this entrance leads to our actual living quarters.”
“Clever misdirection.” Julian followed without hesitation. “How large is the interior space?”
“Approximately eight thousand square feet across three levels. We claimed this building forty years ago when the original business went bankrupt.” Cillian reached the bottom of the stairs and opened another reinforced door. “The wards prevent humans from finding this entrance accidentally. Only those we bring through can access it.”
They stepped into what had once been the factory’s executive floor. Cillian had never really looked at it critically before, but with Julian beside him, he was seeing it through a different lens. They had left a lot of the original structure intact so therewere exposed brick walls and industrial steel beams, along with massive windows that overlooked the warehouse district but were invisible from outside. The furniture was expensive but sparse in the larger space. A couple of leather sofas, which weren’t very comfortable and a tactical map table, made Cillian wonder if he should’ve transported Julian’s armchair. It wasn’t good for sleeping in, but Julian seemed to like sitting in it.
“It looks like a very expensive bunker designed by someone who read exactly one interior design magazine,” Julian said.
Cillian’s shadows rippled with amusement. “Silas chose the furnishings, and that sounds accurate.”
“It explains the clinical aesthetic.” Julian set down his laptop bag and turned in a slow circle, catalogingeverything. “I hate to keep asking, but where’s the kitchen? You said you’d handle coffee.”
“This way.” Cillian led him through an archway into what had been designed as a break room and transformed into something resembling a mansion kitchen. There were granite countertops and professional-grade appliances, which Rook used when he was feeling antsy. But Cillian spotted what he was looking for - a very large espresso machine. Thorn had spotted one like it at a coffee shop once and was determined to get one.
Julian’s eyes locked onto the espresso machine immediately. “Is that a La Marzocco Linea?”
“Thorn insisted on it. He developed an obsession with coffee culture approximately six months ago.” Cillian pulled beans out of the freezer, then paused. “I should warn you - theothers are here. They’ll want to meet you.”
“Your brothers.”
“Yes.” Cillian measured beans with hands that wanted to shake. “They’re...protective and very territorial. We’ve never brought a human here before.”
“Because you’ve never had fated mates before?”
“That and because we’ve never wanted to.” Cillian started the grinder, grateful for something to do with his hands. “We exist to eliminate threats. Humans are generally either targets or complications. But you’re neither,” he added quickly.
“No, I believe it would be disingenuous to apply either of those labels to me.” Julian hopped up to sit on the counter, watching Cillian work. “I imagine that creates an unprecedented category.”
“You have no idea.” Cillian tamped the grounds with more force than necessary. “Thorn wanted to kill you when he found out about the bounty.” He risked a quick glance at his mate as he said it.
Julian’s expression didn’t change. “Clearly, you convinced him otherwise.”
“I told him I’d tear down every shadow in this city if anything happened to you.” Cillian met Julian’s eyes. “I meant it.”
“I know.” Julian’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Cillian’s devotion was devastating. “What changed his mind?”
“Logic. You’re safer here, where we can protect you while eliminating Vane. Once the threat’s neutralized, you can return to your normal life.” The espresso machine hissed and gurgled. “If you want to.”
“And if I don’t want to return to my normal life?”
Cillian’s hands stilled. “Then you stay. For as long as you want. Forever, if you’ll have me.”
“That seems premature, given we’ve known each other for barely a week.”
“I’ve existed for four thousand years. Six days with you is the only time that’s ever mattered.”
Julian opened his mouth, closed it again. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. Cillian pulled two shots of espresso, doctoring Julian’s with the precise amount of milk and sugar he’d observed through Julian’s studio apartment windows.
“You remembered,” Julian said quietly.
“I remember everything about you.” Cillian handed him the cup, careful not to let their fingers touch because if they did, he’d pull Julian close andnever let go. “Your favorite coffee ratio. The way you seem to love oversized cardigans, and it never bothers you when they’re falling off your shoulder, how you touch your glasses when you’re about to correct someone. The exact pitch of your voice when you’re genuinely curious versus when you’re being polite.”
“That’s excessive observation.”
